


Claimed [Revised&Edited]

by Herenya902



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Masks, Slow Burn, Torture, Trust Issues, just a little, thieves guild spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 82,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya902/pseuds/Herenya902
Summary: Arsha is a thief, always has been and always will be, but once upon a time she was also something more. She has returned to Riften to try and start a new life for herself, but she may get more than she bargained for. Embroiled in a crazy twist of fate and drawn to the man who recruited her, will she survive, or will Arsha fall so far she can never climb back up?





	1. A Deadly Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> *Author's note. Everyone is the same age as they are when you play the game despite Alduin being killed earlier. I know that might not make a lot of sense. Sorry. The time gap between the first and second chapters is about 10 years.
> 
> **Disclaimer: Everything recognizable is owned by Bethesda Game Studios. Arsha and a few others are my own creations.
> 
> ***Spoilers: The story follows the Thieves Guild quest line. If you don't want to know what happens, don't read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the revised and edited version of Claimed. If this is your first time reading, enjoy! If not, there aren't any major changes to the story until about chapter twenty seven or so, so you could skip ahead to there if you want, or you could reread it. I'm happy either way!

She had had a very bad day. An important contract had gone awry and she was in a deadly mood. She was very eager to crash into her bed and get the day over with. Hurriedly, she moved to unlock the door, but as she pushed on the handle the door swung open. She had locked the door when she had left last night, she was certain. Moving cautiously, she stepped through the door, drawing her twin glass daggers as did. Her bedroom and kitchen were spotless, exactly as she had left them. That meant that whoever was in her house was either an assassin, which was highly unlikely or a thief after something very specific. She had more wealth than most people could ever dream of, but the only thing worth risking her wrath for was her collection of deadric artifacts.

Silently she made her way down the stairs, stalking toward the room that held her artifacts on soundless feet. Inside the dim room, she could make out the figure of a person bent over one of the display cases. She made her way towards the figure, but they must have heard them coming, for the thief whirled around, drawing their own pair of daggers that glinted in the dim light. The thief, who was a young nord by his build, was tense, watching her with anxious eyes.

His anxiety was well founded, after all, everyone knew what happened when you crossed the Dragonborn. Lips parted in a sinister grin, she stepped into the light of a flickering candle. “Well, thief,” she purred, her voice sickly sweet, “why don’t you give back what you’ve stolen and I won’t hurt you…much.” The thief didn’t respond, keeping his defensive stance.

“Very well,” she said darkly, “I will take back what is mine,” She lunged at him, her daggers flashing. The thief met her blows, but she had the strength of countless dragon souls fueling her. Before long, he staggered from the force of her attacks, and she pushed her advantage. Her daggers slipped past his feeble defense and tore through the armor at his chest, causing the thief to stumble away from her.

She stalked toward him, and as she closed in on the young thief, she saw a flash of determination in his green eyes. Her lips twisted into a grin as she realized that the poor thief thought he had a chance to beat her. She would enjoy crushing that hope, and crush it she would.

The nord lunged at her, but his swings were wild and uncontrolled. The young thief had likely never been in a true fight before. She blocked the blows easily and sliced two more red lines across his chest. The stubborn nord refused to give up, however, instead striking again harder and faster.

One of his blows, by pure chance, managed to glance the Dragonborn’s shoulder. His blade barely cut through her armor, but it angered her nonetheless. She blocked the thief’s next attacks in a series of swift movements, the man barely managing to keep up with her strikes. Then she shouted, “Gaan Lah Haas!” The thief dropped his daggers, his fingers suddenly too weak to grip them. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor with a crash.

The Dragonborn loomed over him, and she could imagine the fear the young nord must be feeling. Her face, shrouded in shadow and marred by black paint in the shape of the hand, had inspired terror in more people than he could possibly imagine. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she reveled in the feeling of supremacy that flowed through her. “Give me what you took,” She demanded slowly, her voice was low and threatening. She could do much worse than this; she could put him in agony far more acute than anything he had ever experienced.

The thief glared at her in reply before summoning enough strength to spit at her. She flicked the saliva off of her face with an angry movement, her blood boiling. How dare this thief defy her! “You should have known better than to mess with the most powerful woman in all of Tamriel!” she hissed in his ear, her voice promising pain.

In a few quick movements, she had cut away the damaged top of his armor, tossing the tattered remains to the side, exposing the thief’s pale chest. With her daggers she traced the outline of his muscles, being sure to leave a thin blood behind. As they moved across his skin the enchanted daggers left a trail of sparks, adding to the pain the man had to be feeling. That pain showed in the thief’s eyes, but he made no sound. Determined to change that, she grinned menacingly and slashed her daggers across his stomach, just deep enough to draw blood. The thief hissed at the unexpected pain, causing the Dragonborn to let out an evil laugh.

She stood and walked to one of the many cabinets that lined the walls of the room. From its shelves she pulled a small red bottle; a healing potion. She uncorked the bottle and held it out to the thief, who looked at her in surprise before reaching for the bottle. She waved it tauntingly in front of his face before kneeling in front of him and dumping it on his wounds with a sadistic grin. When poured straight onto wounds instead of drunk, healing potions hurt almost as much as the cuts themselves did. Sure enough, she watched with satisfaction as the thief’s eyes darkened from both pain and anger.

Standing again, she watched with a slight grin as the young nord struggled to rise. Eventually, he was standing, facing her with that look of determination, now laced with pain, in his eyes. His unsteady feet were set in an offensive position; he still wanted to fight her for his freedom. She laughed inwardly at his efforts, drawing her own daggers once more. He would learn soon that no one could beat the Dragonborn.

Out of nowhere she dashed forward and slashed a dagger at his face. The thief blocked it, but only just. It didn’t matter though, as the dagger was merely a distraction. In a flash of movement, she rammed her other dagger into his shoulder. He flinched away from the blade, which only served to deepen and lengthen the wound. The pain must have been terrible, but he made no sound. Instead, he clenched his jaw as his eyes darkened even further. A sinister grin crossed her face, and she wrenched her dagger from his shoulder spraying blood across his arm and chest. Finally, a tiny cry of pain left the nord’s mouth as he stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder, the blood seeping between his fingers and staining them red.

The thief was too weakened and distracted by the pain to stop her from rifling through his pockets and emptying them of anything valuable. She let each gem and each septim drop into her hand with lazy motions, as if retrieving the valuables was a task of secondary importance to her. The thief watched each one fall with a bitter expression that slowly slacked as his pain began to drown out everything else. Disappointed that she had lost the interest of her audience, the Dragonborn tucked the gold and jewels into one of her many pockets and then held out her hands and healed the nord.

His cuts across his stomach were the first to heal, then the lines on his chest. Finally, she healed the wound on his shoulder, but not all the way. No, she would let him endure the pain for a while longer. She then turned the healing to herself and watched as the small cut that the thief had managed to give her mended itself before her eyes. Magic truly was an incredible thing.

When she had finished, she bent down and stared the nord in the eyes. “You are very lucky to be alive,” she stated softly. “Most of my uninvited guests are not nearly as fortunate. We will see if your luck holds.” The thief shivered at her words, bringing a satisfied smile to her face. He was beginning to fear her.

Turning on her heel, she strode toward the door of the small room and opened it. She shot one last look at the thief, who was lying crumpled on the ground, before stepping into the other room and closing the door behind her. She locked the master locked door and also added a strong enchantment to it. She was certain she had taken all of the thief’s lockpicks, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

After she had secured the door, she went back upstairs and collapsed on her bed, not even bothering to change out of her blood-stained clothes. The night had been long and had started out very unpleasant, but thanks to her unexpected visitor things seemed to be looking up.

The next day, the nord was standing when she entered the room. His stance was one of hesitant offense. It was as if he wanted to attack her, but something was holding him back. After a few tense seconds whatever it was relinquished its hold and the thief flew at her, daggers slashing through the air. She dodged each of his sloppy attacks and pushed him backward with hands sparking with electricity. He gasped as he fell to the ground, his chest heaving.

“Do not provoke me,” the Dragonborn warned him calmly. As if he could do anything to change her plans for him. No, she knew exactly what was going to happen today, and she was going to enjoy every second of it. The thief, on the other hand, might not find it quite as entertaining.

She reached for a clean dagger and some rope that hung from her belt before moving to a cabinet and grabbing something else. She held it up for him to see and at first, he looked confused, but then a terrified light of understanding filled his eyes. He scrambled backward away from her but quickly hit the wall.

She tutted at him softly as she reached out and began to bind his legs. He tried to kick at her, but she put a spell of temporary paralysis on him, and he froze. She bound his arms behind his back leaving his chest exposed. Then she waited for the spell to wear off. It was so much more enjoyable when they could squirm.

She grabbed her dagger again and made a small X on his torso. The cuts were thin and shallow, but they were not meant to be the painful part. No, the pain came when she took a pinch of the other thing she had grabbed and rubbed it into the wounds. Salt. The thief’s eyes widened and he let out an involuntary gasp of pain as she ground the mineral into his torn skin. The Dragonborn’s smirk grew as the time passed and white and red X’s decorated the thief’s chest.

She watched as his pain grew and grew to the level that she knew he could take no more. His eyes were beginning to roll back in his head when she finally held out her hands and healed him once again. The cuts mended, but the salt remained sitting on top of his skin. She grabbed a towel from a nearby cabinet, she used this room for storing a lot of her excess supplies and began to scrub the salt off. She rubbed hard enough to leave his skin raw and red.

After several long minutes, she stood and backed away. As she moved she saw the thief’s posture begin to relax. That wouldn't do. Drawing her dagger, she leaped at him and grabbed one of his arms before he could move. With a swift stroke, she cut a deep crimson line into it. Then she backed away and watched his green eyes darken even further from the pain. Saying nothing, she turned and left the room for the day.

The next few days went much the same way. She would enter the room, try out a different method of torture, and add a new cut to his arm. She changed arms each day so that they would match when she was done.

On the final day, she decided to change things up. The thief now had three lines on his left arm and two on his right. After today he would have three on each. The cuts would scar, of that she was certain. She had always healed the rest of him carefully to where the wounds would pain him, but not leave permanent damage aside from the ones on his arms. Today, however, she would leave more lasting marks.

She said nothing as she approached the young nord, but she could see a sliver of fear in his eyes. Somehow he could sense that today would be worse than the others.

The Dragonborn stopped when she was just out of reach of the thief. He eyed her carefully and she saw a look of grim determination in his eyes. He was going to try to escape, no matter what. With an evil grin, she put his determination to the test.

Weaving a harsh pattern of glowing blue light in the air, she cast a spell. The tendrils of light solidified into frozen whips that hovered in the air. The nord eyed them warily, but they did not move. Obviously thinking that the spell had gone wrong, he lunged at her with a dagger that he had somehow hidden away. That was when the whips moved.

They lashed out at the thief, mercilessly slashing and stinging every bit of exposed skin except for his face. The whips froze in mid-strike when the nord stopped attacking, too tired to continue. A light of comprehension shone in his eyes, and she knew that he understood. The spell she had cast ensured that the whips would move only when he did.

Then the comprehension gave way to the same determination she had seen earlier. She knew he would attack again. Sure enough, he dashed at her and caused the whips to begin striking at him again. He managed, somehow, to cause one of the whips to dispel, but she only laughed and summoned two more to take its place.

The thief continued to move and fight despite the obvious pain he was in. Eventually, after he was bleeding from dozens of places and could barely stand, she called the whips off. She didn’t know why. She had summoned them with every intention to let them attack him until he could no longer move, but for some reason she flicked her wrist, causing the whips to dispel in a burst of frigid blue light.

When the whips dissipated the nord fell to his knees. He drew in ragged gasps of air, and she could tell that his body was almost ready to give in. After all, he had suffered much at her hands these past six days. Yet when she approached and knelt beside him to look him in the eyes, there was a burning passion and defiance in his green orbs.

The sight stirred a deep anger in her. How dare this thief, who was nearly dead by her hands, still defy her! The angry thought caused the countless dragon souls within her to roar their displeasure, and she roared with them, her Voice shaking the room as she Shouted a single word:

“Faaz!” Pain.

The word sent the young thief crumpling completely. His eyes darkened so much from the pain that they looked as if they were solid black and not emerald green. His face contorted in agony and his mouth opened in a silent cry.

The word was the first in a shout of pure torment. One word brought even the strongest men to their knees. Two often drove people insane. Three always killed. The pain was so great that the brain shut down, unable and unwilling to operate.

The thief gasped for breath and his chest heaved. The Dragonborn watched him with unfeeling eyes. She was a little disappointed that he had not screamed. Most did.

When the thief appeared to have recovered somewhat she Shouted again. “Gaan Lah Haas!” In an instant, the thief had frozen. The Shout had drained the little bit of strength that he had had leaving the man was too weak to move. She turned him on his stomach to expose his back and summoned a small, intense flame to her fingertip. Then she began to draw.

She burned the image of an intricate dragon with outstretched wings and fire pouring from a gaping maw. It was centered between his shoulder blades and was the size of her spread hand. The burning symbol marked him as her victim, her handiwork. It was a symbol she left on each person unfortunate enough to be caught somewhere she didn’t want them to be. It was how she claimed them.

After she had finished she turned the thief back over and looked into his eyes. They were clouded in a deep pain and exhaustion. She doubted that he was aware enough to even feel the pain, but then he blinked. He blinked and his eyes cleared. The fog was replaced by anger and unwavering strength. The sight shocked her. Here this thief was, on the brink of death, and he still had the courage and strength to defy her in this small way.

She shook her head vigorously to clear it of thought and drew her dagger. She took his right arm in her hand and cut the final line across it. The wound immediately began to bleed and the nord clenched his teeth in pain but stayed silent, either too weak or too stubborn to make a sound

For a moment the Dragonborn, Bane of Alduin and Terror of Men, stared at the lowly thief who was so brave as to defy her. Then she stood swiftly and turned on her heel, away from him. “Go,” she said, still not facing him. “I could have killed you, but your strength has saved you. Go now. I will not give you another chance.” After she spoke those words, she left the room.

A few moments later she heard the nord stumble to his feet and shuffle towards the door. He collapsed once on his way, but struggled to his feet and made it out of the room and out of the house. She watched him disappear into the gloom, confused as to why she had let him go.

A few weeks later the Dragonborn decided that it was time to disappear. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT A/N: This work is completed, but you probably already knew that. However, this work is not abandoned! I still read every single comment and review I get, so please don't be afraid to leave some. I love to hear all kinds of feedback! Thanks for reading!


	2. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha has decided to start over, again. Maybe this time she can stay awhile.

Arsha knew as she stepped up to the gates of Riften that something was about to happen. The night was cloudy and starless, the moon was dim, and the wind refused to blow. It was as if nature was holding its breath. The gates were locked, but the guards slept peacefully, so she carefully pickpocketed one of them, opened the gates with his key, slipping through them silently. and opened the gate with his key.

Walking through the empty moonlit streets, Arsha breathed in the smell of Riften with a slight smile. It had been years since she had been in the city, and she had missed the place.

Now, Arsha once again pushed open the door to Honeyside. As she stepped inside her long-abandoned home, her feet left prints in the thick dust that covered everything within. Not a single thing had been touched in fifteen years. This house held the painful memories, memories that seemed to belong to a different person, and not a good one. It seemed everywhere she looked, an object would catch her eye and drag one of those dark memories from the shadowed corners of her mind.

Arsha sighed and turned to leave the house. She would deal with all of this later. Before she stepped into the street, however, she made sure that her hood and mask were in place, shrouding all but her eyes from view. It had been fifteen years since anyone had seen more than her eyes, and she planned to keep it that way.

She walked toward the Bee and Barb intending to sleep there until she got her house cleaned up. That could take some time, however, as she would have to do it in secret, or perhaps she could buy it from the Jarl… Shaking her head, Arsha drew herself from her thoughts and pushed open the door to the inn.

As she stepped into the Bee and Barb, she could feel the eyes of almost every patron within turn toward her. She could imagine what they thought of her, dressed as she was in dark leathers with two enchanted glass daggers hanging at her side and a similarly enchanted glass bow with a quiver full of arrows on her back. She was quite a sight.

Ignoring the stares, she walked up to the counter and placed a bag of gold on it. “I would like to rent a room for seven days,” she said, her soft voice at odds with her frightening appearance. The barmaid, Keerava, appeared unfazed by her appearance, however. Instead of commenting on it, the barmaid simply scooped up the coins and told Arsha to follow a different Argonian who stood nearby.

The Argonian showed her to her rooms upstairs, and Arsha thanked him with a generous tip. He grinned a reptilian smile before wishing her a good night and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the man left, Arsha knelt in front of the door and rigged a quick tripwire that would wake her should someone try to enter. Then she shrugged off her weapons, except for her daggers, which she placed under her pillow, and collapsed onto the bed and promptly fell asleep.

In the morning, Arsha left the Bee and Barb to seek out work. There was always somebody who needed someone to fetch or deliver something, a fact she had learned well over the past several years, but today those people were scarce. One person wanted her to gather some alchemical ingredients, and Arsha said she would keep an eye out, but other than that no one seemed to be in need of the newcomer’s services.

Brynjolf watched the stranger in town as she searched for someone who could give her work. He couldn’t actually see her skin thanks to the leathers and mask she wore, but she appeared to be a nord. She was a bit tall and less muscular than most nords, but judging by the bow she wore slung on her back she was an archer rather than a warrior. Her golden eyes, far from common among nords, although not impossible, swept the market for someone else who could offer her work. They focused on Balimund, and the woman made her way over to the smith on light feet that made hardly any sound against the stone street.

She and the smith spoke for a few minutes, and Brynjolf could tell from the woman’s posture that she was ready to spring into action at any moment. Even as she spoke to Balimund, her head moved from side to side, keeping an eye on her surroundings, and Brynjolf had a feeling that her ears were just as alert. The woman would make a good thief with traits like that.

The woman bid goodbye to Balimund and made her way back across the market. As she passed by his stall he stepped in front of her and said, “Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying. Eh, lass?”

“I like to think I’ve managed at least two days’ worth thank you very much,” she replied nonchalantly, her eyes drifting lazily over his face. “Although the people around here seem intent on keeping me from reaching three.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that lass, but if you’re willing to be flexible on the honest part we may be able to make a deal.” Brynjolf offered, wearing the trademark grin he always used; the one that had charmed more than one woman in his days.

“I’m listening,” was all that the woman said in reply, unmoved by his smile.

Undeterred, Brynjolf went on to explain his scheme and the woman nodded her acceptance. He started his distraction, but she clearly didn’t need it. It took her no more than thirty seconds to break into both Madesi’s stall and safe and grab the ring. Less than a minute later, the woman was leaning against the wall near his stall; he never even saw her place the ring on Brand-Shei.

Before long, Brand-shei was arrested and the woman pushed herself off the wall and sauntered over to his stall. She didn’t even open the bag to see how much gold there was when he paid her. Maybe she didn’t need the gold as much as she appeared to.

“My organization could use a person like you.” He said to her before the woman had a chance to walk away. “Meet me in the Ragged Flagon under the city tonight if you’re interested. If not, well, you're wasting your talents, lass.”

The woman tilted her head as if considering the offer before turning to walk away.

“By the way,” Brynjolf called after her, “The name’s Brynjolf. Yours?”

For a moment, she hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure if she should tell him the truth, but then she said, “Arsha, my name is Arsha.” The woman quickly disappeared, but Brynjolf had a feeling she would be back. Her name seemed to be a promise of that.

It wasn’t until Arsha had fought her way through most of the Ratways that she stopped to think about what she was doing. She was going to try and join a group of thieves! Stealing was part of her old life, a life she had sworn to leave behind. And yet she couldn’t deny the rush she felt when she cracked open a safe or slipped her hands in and out of an unsuspecting person’s pocket.

She had always known deep inside that a thief was who she was but there were two types of thieves. One had honor and discipline, the other didn’t care who they stole from or how they did it. Judging by Brynjolf’s attitude, this Guild seemed to be the first kind. It was a huge gamble, but maybe, just maybe, this could be her chance to finally start a new life.

When she reached the Flagon her quiver wasn’t quite as full as it had been, but other than that she bore no signs of having been fighting just minutes ago. She neared the table Brynjolf was sitting at and heard a bald Breton next to him chuckle and say, “Oh no, Bryn’s gone and fallen for some pretty girl again.”

“Well, Delvin,” Brynjolf replied with a grin, “I can’t actually tell if the lass is pretty or not.”

“How in Talos’s name can you not tell if she’s pretty?” the Breton named Delvin asked in a disbelieving tone. “Have you gone blind, mate?”

Brynjolf laughed and shook his head. “Take a look for yourself, Del,” he said, gesturing to Arsha who stood behind the Breton.

The Breton, Delvin, turned around, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked over Arsha. He paused for a moment before glancing over his shoulder and saying, “Well, I can see what you mean.”

Brynjolf chuckled and shook his head before turning his attention to Arsha, who had watched the exchange with a slight smile, not that anyone could see the expression through her mask. “Have any trouble getting here?” he asked her in what she figured was supposed to be an innocent voice, but he ruined it by grinning.

“I would have been fine, except the smell almost killed me. Really Brynjolf I don’t know why you bother with security,” she replied in a serious voice, not letting her eyes give away her humor.

There was silence for a moment before Delvin laughed loudly. “I like her!” he exclaimed.

The woman sitting next to him only grumbled, however. “I might start trying to like her when she gets her first job done,” she declared, looking Arsha over with a critical eye.

“Now, now Vex. That’s not very nice. The lass just got here!” Brynjolf said in a mock scolding tone. Vex just shrugged unapologetically.

“Vex is right though, lass,” Brynjolf admitted, turning his attention back to her. “As impressive as that stunt in the marketplace was, you’ll need to do more than that to prove your worth to us.”

“Of course,” Arsha said. She hadn’t expected to be able to just waltz in and join the guild. “What do I need to do?”

For the next few minutes, Arsha listened as Brynjolf explained her assignment. Apparently, some of the local shopkeepers had been skimping on their protection payments to the Guild. A part of her wondered if there was some truth to the rumors that the Thieves Guild wasn’t a strong as it used to be. She had dismissed the rumors as false, but if even merchants in Riften weren’t taking the Guild seriously...

Brynjolf drew her out of her thoughts when he stood from the table, wishing her good luck. “I know this job doesn’t seem like much,” he said, “but it’s important that we make sure the shopkeepers know who’s in charge around here.”

Arsha nodded. “I understand.” Brynjolf grinned at her and clapped her on the back before wishing her good luck once more and walking over to the bar to join Delvin and Vex. For a few moments, Arsha remained seated at the table, deciding how she would approach the job, but eventually, she stood and began to make her way back through the tunnels.

Several minutes later, Arsha finally made it back to her bed at the Bee and Barb and crashed into it, falling asleep almost instantly. Her sleep, however, was far from restful.

Scenes flashed by, too fast for Arsha to understand what was happening. Instead, she was left with a deep feeling of terror that seemed to dwell within her very bones. And so she ran. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, but it didn’t make a difference. The scenes around her still changed too rapidly, and that feeling of terror only grew. Then the voices started. Only whispers at first, calling her name, telling her to join them once again. She recognized the voices, they belonged to the Deadric Princes she had once served. She tried to will her legs to move faster, but it was no use. The whispers grew louder and louder until the words filled every piece of her being, shoving out her very soul and replacing it with something dark and all too familiar.

When Arsha awoke, she was shaking worse than a leaf in a blizzard. Cold sweat covered her body in a damp layer, causing the mask she wore even in her sleep to stick to her face. The mask that hid a monster.

With effort, Arsha shook herself from her dark thoughts. She had work to do, and she didn’t have time to waste sitting here feeling sorry for herself. She had decided to confront Keerava last because she still didn’t know what to do about her, so she bought a sweet roll and went to find Haelga.

Brynjolf had told Arsha that Haelga was a devout follower of the goddess Dibella, which made Arsha immediately dislike her. She didn’t have anything against the goddess, but some of her worshipers were a little too...devout for Arsha’s taste. So, when Haelga told her that she wouldn’t pay the protection fee Arsha grabbed Haelga’s statuette of Dibella and held it around the throat.

“Maybe I should go dump this in the sewer then.” she hissed at the now extremely frightened woman.

“No! Not Lady Diabela!” Haelga sobbed, looking paler than the moon. Arsha rolled her eyes, unimpressed by the woman’s dramatics.

“You give me the money and I give you the statue. Deal?” Arsha said in the same tone she would use with a small child.

Haelga glared daggers at her but threw a large bag of gold on the counter. Arsha smiled behind her mask and pocketed the gold in a quick movement. Then, she slammed the statuette on the counter making Haelga squeal. Arsha sighed. Religion fanatics.

Arsha’s next target was a man named Bersi Honey-hand. He was easy to convince to pay. All Arsha had done was raise a dagger above his precious Dwemer vase and he had agreed to pay his debt in full on the spot. So far so good. All she had to do now was convince Keerava to pay up.

When she stepped into the Bee and Barb Keerava’s eyes immediately found hers. She wore the lizard version of a scowl. Obviously, the woman had heard about Arsha’s mission. This might be a little more difficult than she had expected.

Instead of going to Keerava, Arsha made her way over to Talen-Jei, the male Argonian that had led her to her rooms the first night. She had learned from Brynjolf that the two were romantically involved and she hoped that Talen-Jei would be more cooperative. Luckily her hope was not let down.

“I don’t want a war with your people.” Talen-Jei said, wringing his hands nervously, “I’ll try to talk to Keerava, but I can’t promise anything.”

Arsha nodded and sat down in a corner to wait, keeping an eye on the couple in case they tried to pull any tricks. Many people gave her strange looks that ranged anywhere from curious to scared to outright angry. She was used to it though. Very few people, however, were actually brave enough to speak to her and most of the ones who did were drunk.

Finally, after almost an hour Talen-Jei returned with a bag of gold, which Arsha took. “I managed to convince Keerava to pay, but she refuses to let you sleep here anymore. Here is the rest of the gold you paid for your seven days.” He said as he held out a smaller bag.

Arsha shook her head. “Keep it,” she said. The Argonian looked confused but didn’t ask why which Arsha was grateful for as she wasn’t quite certain herself. A part of her wanted to reach out and snatch the purse back, but the larger part felt like she owed it to the Argonian. Maybe she was changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you did and did not like! It really, really helps! Like really!! Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha begins her training in the Guild and Brynjolf can't help but be impressed by the mysterious lass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy and send me a comment!

Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex were discussing their newest recruit, seated at the bar as Vekel served them a meal and drinks.

“I didn’t even see the lass do it!” Brynjolf was saying yet again, “And I was watching her!” He gestured with his hands as he spoke, nearly knocking over his bottle of mead, which was saved only by Vex’s quick reflexes. He shrugged apologetically at the other thief, but the woman only rolled her eyes.

“I said it yesterday and I’ll say it again today: you’ve gone and fallen in love with another ‘lass’ who’s just goin’ to end up behind bars sooner or later,” Delvin declared with a mock groan. “Seriously, mate, this is gettin’ ridiculous.”

“I’m telling you, Del, this one’s going to be different. I can feel it!” Brynjolf said with startling conviction.

“Brynjolf's right,” Vex said from her place between the two men. The other two thieves raised their eyebrows in surprise, causing Vex to roll her eyes. “He's right that she’s different, but that isn’t always good, Bryn.”

“And I agree with Vex,” a quiet voice behind Brynjolf said. He turned around, trying to keep the surprise from showing on his face. He must have failed, however, because he saw Delvin smirk out of the corner of his eye. Arsha gave a small laugh and deposited three sacks of gold on the table. “Different isn’t always good, but hopefully this time it is. All three of the merchants have agreed to continue to pay.”

Brynjolf shook his head in amazement and began counting the coins. Three hundred exactly. The woman hadn’t even tried to take a cut for herself yet. Arsha just stood there waiting as he separated a pile of about fifty coins and pushed them toward her. She swooped them up and dropped them into a hidden pouch at her waist with the air of someone who had done this many a time before, leaving Brynjolf wondering just what it was the woman used to do and why she had found herself in Riften of all places looking for odd jobs.

Shaking his head inwardly, Brynjolf stood from the barstool. There would be plenty of time for questions, and the stories that undoubtedly went with them, later. “It’s time I introduced you to the Guild proper,” he said, gesturing for the woman to follow him. Arsha’s eyes glittered as he spoke, and Brynjolf couldn’t help but wonder if she wore a self-satisfied smile under that mask of hers.

As he walked past Vex the white-haired thief leaned toward him and said in a low voice, “She had been standing there since Delvin spoke. She's quiet, but is that really a good thing?” Brynjolf just shook his head at her disapproval and kept walking. They were thieves, of course, it was a good thing!

He led Arsha into the hallway and stopped in front of the door that led to the Cistern. “I’m about to introduce you to Mercer Frey, the Guildmaster. Mercer is a bit, well… you’ll see. Just show him some respect and do what he tells you and everything will be fine,” he explained and Arsha gave a small nod.

Arsha knew the second that she saw the Guildmaster’s harsh face that the two of them would not get along very well. Mercer Frey stood with the attitude of one who was in complete control, something that reminded her far too much of the person she had once been. Mercer watched Arsha and Brynjolf with disapproving eyes as they approached.

When they reached the platform in the middle of the cistern Brynjolf said, “Mercer? This is the one I was talking about…our newest recruit.” He gestured to Arsha, who nodded respectfully to the Guildmaster. Mercer, however, ignored the gesture. Instead, his eyes flicked over her with an air of disdain before he turned back to Brynjolf and sneered,

“This had better not be a waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf.” Oh yes, Arsha just loved how he spoke as if she wasn’t there. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and it was a good thing she did because the next moment Mercer Frey turned to face her. "Before we continue,” he said, his tone pompous, “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions...you do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?" With a great effort, Arsha resisted a smart remark and merely nodded.

Mercer gave an all-knowing smirk and said, “Good. Then I think it is time to put your expertise to the test.”

Arsha knew that Frey was pulling something and sure enough Brynjolf spoke up almost immediately. “Wait a moment, you're not talking about Goldenglow, are you?” he asked incredulously. “Even our little Vex couldn't get in.”

Mercer turned back to Brynjolf. "You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let her prove it.”

“The lass just got here, Mercer!” Brynjolf pointed out. “Give her some time to practice.”

Mercer paused and Arsha thought he would deny her her time, but instead, he grinned and said, “Fine, she has one week.” Arsha could tell Brynjolf thought about arguing but he just gave her an apologetic shrug instead.

Mercer turned back to her and continued on. “Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details."

Mercer turned to leave, but Brynjolf stopped him saying, “Mercer, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Mercer glared at Brynjolf before saying, “Hmm? Oh, yes. Since Brynjolf assures me you'll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you're in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild." With that Mercer turned his back on her and stalked back to his desk.

“Well, that went pretty well all things considered,” Brynjolf said with an overly optimistic smile as he led Arsha away from the center dais.

“Liar,” Arsha grumbled in reply, following the red-haired thief.

“Okay, so maybe Mercer doesn’t like you as much as I thought he would,” Brynjolf admitted, “but you're now an official member of the best guild in the business and you get a full week to train before you go on your first mission!”

“Brynjolf, there are some serious flaws to your argument. First, Mercer hates me, second you’re the only guild in the business that I know of, and third I have seven days to train before I have to pull off a mission even your top infiltrator couldn’t complete successfully. Yes, things went pretty well,” Arsha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Lass, you wound me. Here I am trying to make light of a less than shining situation and you’re going and raining on my parade,” He said in a mock offended voice. Then he smiled cockily. “You’ll fit right in!”

Arsha just rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh, though it was only a half-hearted one. ‘Maybe this is the right decision after all,’ she thought as she followed Brynjolf to a room off of the main cistern.

“This is the training room,” he said gesturing to the many dummies, targets, and locked chests. “It’s where we go to hone our skills and to learn from others. I oversee the training of most new recruits.” His playful tone was gone replaced with a more serious one. Evidently this was important to him. “Today, I’ll be assessing your skills with lockpicking, archery, and melee combat including hand-to-hand. I need to know what we need to work on before I send you off to Goldenglow.” Arsha nodded firmly. She had been a thief for almost as long as she could remember. It was something she was good at.

“Let’s start with archery, shall we?” Brynjolf suggested, gesturing to the targets on one side of the room.

Arsha walked to the far wall facing the targets and slung her bow off of her back. She fitted an arrow to the string and breathed in deeply. She sighted along the arrow and released hitting the bull’s eye. She fired again and again until every target had an arrow buried firmly in its center.

“Well,” Brynjolf said, the surprise in his voice making Arsha grin, “You can shoot.” Arsha laughed quietly.

“What’s next?” she asked not-so-innocently.

Brynjolf gestured to the locked chests. “Lockpicking.”

Arsha walked over to the chests and sat down. The first one opened easily as well as the second and the third, the fourth and fifth however gave her some trouble. The expert locked one caused her to break three picks before she found the perfect spot and opened it.

Arsha looked at the master locked chest and sighed in annoyance. She hated these. In went the first pick which broke almost immediately. The second pick turned marginally before breaking as did the third. The fourth turned a quarter of the way before snapping. The fifth and sixth turned slightly more, but the seventh did it. The lock finally turned all the way before opening.

Arsha looked up to see Brynjolf nodding. “Not too bad, lass.” He said. “Now I’ll test your blade skills.” Arsha glanced disdainfully at the dummies. They were for improving techniques, not actual dueling. Brynjolf saw her look and chuckled. “Don’t worry, lass. You won’t be using the dummies. You’ll be sparring me.” Arsha frowned and cocked her head.

“Rules?” she asked. She didn’t want to risk hurting the other thief.

“We fight to five hits. No drawing blood,” Brynjolf explained. “Ready when you are.”

Arsha fell into an aggressive stance and drew her daggers. Brynjolf drew his, they were glass like her own. “Ready,” she said, eyes narrowed.

Brynjolf let her make the first move. She leaped at him and turned to the side at the last moment bringing her dagger down on his back, but he wasn’t there. On instinct, she ducked and rolled to the left. She heard the whoosh of a blade slicing the air where she had stood just seconds before.

She jumped forward, swinging her first dagger at his head with a force that required Brynjolf to use both daggers to block it. “You trying to kill me, lass?” Brynjolf growled still blocking her strike.

“No.” She smiled tapping him with her other dagger on his side which was wide open due to the two daggers still raised above his head. “Hit number one.” Brynjolf’s eyes narrowed and he leaped at her again. Good. He wasn’t holding back now.

Before long he had scored two hits on her, and Arsha was beginning to tire. Desperate, she backed up to get some space and then she ran right at him. At the last moment, she dropped down and slid past him scoring two hits on his legs. He lunged and almost stepped on her hand but she scrambled out of the way.

She sprang back up and waited for Brynjolf to attack. He did and the two engaged in a rapid exchange of blows. He struck, she parried and counterattacked, which he blocked and so on. Eventually, Arsha managed to score another hit on his arm tallying her hits up to four and Brynjolf to two, but before she could celebrate he struck at her with such power that she stumbled. Sensing her weakness, Brynjolf pounced. Arsha could barely keep up with the torrent of blows. All she could do was block with no chance to counterattack.

Before too long Brynjolf had scored two more hits leaving the two duelists tied. They broke apart and circled each other warily. They were both tired. Arsha’s arms were growing heavy, and she could tell Brynjolf felt the same; he no longer stepped with the same bounce he had earlier. Assessing the battle, Arsha accepted the fact that more than likely she would be unable to win. But that didn’t mean that Brynjolf wouldn’t work for his win!

With an almost feral smile, Arsha flew at Brynjolf pushing him back with a force that obviously surprised him. She rained a flurry of blows at him and then darted away across the room at the last second. Tauntingly, she waved her dagger at him daring him to chase her. He accepted her challenge and launched himself after her. She led him on a chase around the room often coming close to being hit, but she always danced out of the way just in time. He was stronger than she was, but she was faster.

She was growing even more tired and she knew that she couldn’t continue this much longer so she turned to face him and blocked his attack. Yet again they exchanged a powerful trade of blows. Each attack was growing slower than the last and Arsha felt the end nearing. With gritted teeth, Arsha pushed harder than ever her daggers a blur of movement. Brynjolf fought back with a burst of hidden energy blocking and counter-attacking forcefully.

All at once, Arsha felt her torrent of blows waiver as did Brynjolf. He attacked with the fierceness of a wild animal. One of his daggers slipped past hers and landed at her throat. The room fell silent. “Five…hits. I…win…lass,” he panted out between gasps for air. Arsha smiled and her eyes shone. It had been a good fight.

She sheathed her daggers and shook Brynjolf’s outstretched hand. “That was a good fight Brynjolf. What’s next?” she asked, honestly curious.

Brynjolf shook his head in amazement. “Next is food, lass,” he declared with a laugh.

Arsha followed as he led the way back to the Ragged Flagon. She wasn't actually going to eat anything of course—her mask made eating a little bit difficult—but it would be nice to have a rest before the next test.

When they reached the Flagon, Brynjolf sat down at the bar and motioned for Arsha to join him. As she took a seat on one of the barstools, Brynjolf placed an order with the man on the other side of the counter.

"This is Vekel,” Brynjolf said after he finished his order. “He keeps everyone around here full of food and drink. Mainly drink."

Arsha nodded her head in respect toward Vekel before turning back to Brynjolf. "Well, lass," he asked with a gesture toward the food behind the counter, "You going to order anything?"

"No." Brynjolf looked at her inquisitively. “It’s hard to eat with a mask on,” she explained, gesturing to the material that covered her face.

“Then take it off. We are all family down here.”

“Then I guess I’m the strange, paranoid cousin that you keep locked in the closet. The mask stays Brynjolf, always,” she declared softly, and though her words were light, her eyes were hard. Anyone who tried to take her mask from her would see themselves at the tip of her dagger before they could blink.

“Alright, lass, suit yourself. You’re missing out though,” he said with a chuckle before turning to Vekel and ordering a mead.

After Brynjolf got his mead and began to drink Arsha asked, “Do you always try to kill your newest recruits?”

Brynjolf took another swig before replying, “Nah. Most of the time the first pickpocketing test is enough, but Mercer’s in a mood. Sometimes I’ll do a few extra, but never a full skills test like what I’m doing now.” He grinned. “That’s just for you.”

“Great. I feel so special,” Arsha replied sarcastically. Brynjolf grinned again and finished his tankard before standing and asking,

“You ready for some hand-to-hand, lass?”

“You're the one who wanted a break. I’m ready when you are,” Arsha replied cockily. She wasn't usually like this, but the atmosphere in the Guild made her feel free.

“Alright, lass. You're asking for it.” Brynjolf stood, placed a few coins on the table and then strode toward the door that led to the Cistern, a slight spring in his step. Arsha followed him, smiling behind her mask.

When they reached the training room Brynjolf turned toward Arsha and said, “The rules are fairly simple. The winner is the first person who makes the other fall and stay down for more than ten seconds. Don't hit too hard, but don't pull your punches either. Nothing below the belt. Ready?”

Arsha nodded and Brynjolf fell into a typical Nordic fighting stance. Arsha did the same. Instead of attacking first the way she had in their last duel, she waited for Brynjolf to make the first move.

After a few moments of circling, Brynjolf lunged forward aiming a punch at Arsha’s stomach. She sidestepped him and allowed his momentum to carry him forward, past her. A well placed hit on his back made him lose his balance, but he quickly recovered.

Arsha looked him over. He was like most Nords if a little faster to regain his footing. He kept his hands up near his head like he should, but his footwork was lacking. Being able to throw a punch was important, but Arsha knew that what really mattered was the stance. No matter how hard your opponent hit you, if you had the right stance, you wouldn't fall.

Brynjolf came at her again, this time landing a blow to Arsha’s side, but she turned causing the punch to skim along her stomach instead of landing solidly. Her feet were still firmly planted, so when Brynjolf’s second fist aimed for her shoulder she stepped inside of the punch and landed one of her own right below Brynjolf's collarbone. He staggered slightly and Arsha took advantage of the thief’s state, hitting him in the stomach.

They broke apart and Brynjolf circled her warily. Suddenly, Arsha leaped at him, and he sidestepped, letting her land just past him. She turned instantly and landed a blow to his upper back. Her next attack was blocked and Brynjolf swung at her head. She ducked under the swing and drove her fist into his stomach right below his rib cage. Brynjolf moved with the punch, almost throwing Arsha off balance. She swiftly found her footing, however, and squared herself against his attacks once again.

Trying a different tactic, Brynjolf rained a flurry of blows down on Arsha. Quite a few landed, but Arsha only staggered slightly. She managed to get inside his next punch and land her fist under his chin. Brynjolf’s head snapped back, and while he was disoriented Arsha placed a few more blows and managed to get him to fall. He stayed down past the count of ten. Arsha helped him to his feet.

Once he was standing she glared at him before saying in an annoyed tone, “You could have gotten back up. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

Brynjolf shook his head. “Lass, when you win, don’t question it.” He rubbed his chin. “That one hurt.” Then he grinned at her. “I had a feeling that we could go on forever. Our fighting styles are just so different. I have more strength than you, but you don’t seem to stumble.”

Arsha nodded. “An old Redguard friend of mine taught me how to fight. He said that nords have lots of power, but no stability. He argues that the most important part of a fight is footwork and your footwork, Brynjolf, is terrible.” She rubbed her shoulder. “You’ve got the power part down, though.

Brynjolf stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. Arsha glared at him again, which only made him laugh harder. Eventually, he calmed down enough to say between chuckles, “Sorry, lass… it’s just… it’s not often.. that we get a recruit… who can tell me… how to fight!” He took a few deep breaths before continuing, “Most of the people who come our way lately can barely steal, much less fight if they get caught. Delvin thinks we’re cursed, but I say it’s just rotten luck. You just might be a sign that our luck is changing.”

He was still grinning widely. Arsha just shook her head and said, “Are we done for today? If so, what time do you want me back tomorrow?” She was beginning to feel the exhaustion creep in, not that she would ever tell Brynjolf that.

“Actually, I’d like you to meet me by the stables around dawn. I’ll be judging your tracking skills tomorrow,” he replied. Arsha nodded and turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, lass,” Brynjolf added, “Tonilia should have some extra Guild armor if you want a set.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll keep mine,” she said, running a gloved hand along the edge of her hood.

“Suit yourself.”

Arsha turned away and walked out of the training room, resisting the urge to rub her aching shoulder once again. Brynjolf knew how to hit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Please send me a comment and let me know what I could do better next time!


	4. Chapter 4

Brynjolf watched the lass go, a grin on his face. If she was as good at everything else he was going to test her on as she was at fighting, then she would turn out to be one of the best thieves he’d ever seen. Still grinning, he rubbed his jaw and set out to find Vex and Delvin.

Before long he found the two of them sitting in the Ragged Flagon having one of their characteristic arguments. Delvin was in the middle of speaking when Brynjolf walked over. "Oh my... umm, you won't let Mercer hear about this, will you? Ahem," he asked, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“Let Mercer hear about what, Del?” Brynjolf asked teasingly, taking a seat at the table next to the Breton thief.

“Oh it’s nothing, I just—”

“Delvin here robbed a shipment of fir trees thinking they were rugs.” Vex interrupted with a smug look.

“Don’t worry, Del,” Brynjolf said laughing, “your secret’s safe with me.”

Delvin grumbled for a bit before asking, “Where’s the new girl? I thought you two were doin’ some trainin’.”

“We were until the lass beat me in a hand to hand fight,” he replied.

Vex’s eyebrows crept up in disbelief as did Delvin’s.

“It’s true, in fact, in the end, she was even telling me that my stance was wrong! I hit her every way I know how, but she never stumbled enough for me to have any kind of an advantage,” he exclaimed, but instead of being upset, he grinned. “And that’s not all, she can shoot faster than Niruin, and gave me a run for my money when we dueled, dagger on dagger. Her lockpicking could use a bit of work, but we know her pickpocketing skills are good.”

Delvin began to grin. “She may be just the person we need to get rid of this bloody curse.”

“She just might be,” Brynjolf agreed thoughtfully. “She just might be.”

Arsha exited the guild, surprised to see that night was falling. Had she and Brynjolf really spent that long training? She gave a small shrug in the fading light. She needed to get some food and find a place to sleep. There were empty cots in the Guild cistern, she knew, but she didn't feel comfortable falling asleep surrounded by a bunch of thieves she didn't truly know. Brynjolf might have accepted her into the family, but she had a feeling that there were others who didn’t take to new blood quite so kindly.

And so, Arsha quietly made her way to her old house. The streets were still fairly busy, despite the fading light, and as Arsha slipped through the crowd, she lightened several pockets.

Eventually, she made it to her home and opened the door before stepping inside and closing it behind her. Ignoring the dust that was still everywhere, Arsha found some of the food she had bought before Keerava had kicked her out of her room in the inn.

After she had eaten her fill and put her mask back on, she stepped out onto the deck. She couldn't sleep in Honeyside, not tonight. The house still reminded her too much of a monster. Instead, she leaped from her deck to the ground. Before long, she was creeping along the city walls, looking for a good tree to sleep in until dawn. She found one not too far from the stables and curled up in its branches. The wind, cool despite it being almost a month into summer, slipped inside her hood causing her ears to twitch. Arsha closed her eyes and leaned against the tree. In seconds she was asleep.

Brynjolf was up before dawn. Careful not to wake the others, especially Vex who could be quite the terror without her beauty sleep, he slipped out of the Guild. He made his way through the empty streets of Riften silently. His fingers itched to pick a lock or two, but he had other business. He made his way to the stables, but no one was there. He was a bit disappointed, to be honest; he had figured the lass would have the sense to show up on time. He crossed his arms and leaned against a post, already planning the lecture he would give the woman when she showed up. A few seconds later, the tree directly across from him shook. He looked up and saw a figure all in black drop from among its branches.

“Good morning, Brynjolf,” Arsha said.

Brynjolf had to work hard to keep the surprise from showing on his face. “Morning, lass. You ready to get started?” Brynjolf could almost hear Arsha’s smile as she said,

“Yes. Unless you want to just skip this one to save face.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Someone's confident.”

Arsha said nothing, but her posture radiated comfort. Brynjolf had a feeling that he could throw just about any test her way and she’d be fine. That idea only served to heighten his curiosity about the woman. What had she done before coming to Riften that had given her the skill she had?

Shaking his head inwardly to clear it he said, “First, we are going to see how good you are at tracking someone in the dark before the sun fully rises. Close your eyes and wait for a few minutes before trying to track me down. Good luck.” Brynjolf snuck through the trees laying false trails, circling back, walking backward, and covering his tracks. Eventually, he was satisfied that he had chosen a good place to wait. He leaned against the rocks and prepared to sit there for a while.

Needless to say, Brynjolf was very surprised when, a few short minutes later, Arsha was peering at him from around a tree. As she walked over to him she said, “It’s a good thing that most guards are idiots.”

“I don’t think even Delvin could have done it that quickly. How’d you track me?” Brynjolf asked, unable to believe Arsha had found him so quickly.

Arsha gave a shrug. “I ignored any tracks that were too obvious. You are a thief; it’s your natural instinct to cover your steps as best as you can. Once I had found a good trail, I looked around for potential places. Another one of any thief’s instincts is to be surrounded by as much shadow as possible. That implied a cluster of trees as well as a possible rock outcropping.” Arsha shrugged again.

Brynjolf had to grin. This lass was good! “Whatever you did, it worked. Now, let's see if I can track you. I'll give you a seven-minute head start.” he said, and if Arsha hadn't been wearing a mask, Brynjolf had a feeling he would have been able to see a grin.

Regardless, Brynjolf closed his eyes and Arsha left. He thought that he could hear the whispers of her footsteps, but that might have been his imagination. Seven minutes went by slowly. At last, he was able to look for Arsha.

A few minutes of searching yielded no clues, and Brynjolf became more and more aware of the time that seemed to speed by as he hunted for any signs of Arsha’s presence. She had been able to track him easily, and yet here he was, hopelessly lost.

Eventually, he found a few small signs that told him that Arsha had been there, but there were no clues as to where she had gone. The minutes ticked by. A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. The leaves of the trees! Brynjolf looked carefully at the trees above him. After a while he saw a pattern of slightly bent branches and leaves. He had the lass now.

Following the trail, he came to a thicket of trees. Amid the branches of one he just barely saw a glimpse of black leather. “Come on down, lass,” he called up.

Brynjolf heard a laugh followed by the rustling of leaves. Arsha appeared, perched on a branch that looked too thin to hold her. She jumped and landed in front of him in a crouch before rising.

“Twenty minutes. You aren’t blind, are you?” she teased, and her eyes seemed to glow.

Brynjolf shook his head, unable to contain the slight chuckle that escaped him. “No, I’m not. I think you cheated.” he retorted.

“Yes. I stuffed invisibility potions in my pockets,” she said sarcastically. “Even if I did, we're thieves. Cheating is just another, far easier, way to play the game.”

“Fair enough. I'm going to say that you passed this test and leave it at that, lass,” Brynjolf declared.

Arsha laughed again before asking, “Is there anything else you’d like to throw at me?”

“No,” Brynjolf said, shaking his head. “I could do a few more, but I have a feeling that you’d do fine. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, so no more tests.”

“Sounds good,” Arsha said, stretching her arms above her as she spoke. The way she moved reminded Brynjolf of a cat, lithe and strong. “I still need to work on my lockpicking, especially if I’m going to be breaking into Goldenglow Estate in a few days. Do you think Vex has any heists for me?”

“She always has jobs, but lass, if you need to work on lock picking, the chests are there for a reason,” Brynjolf said, but Arsha had already turned and begun to walk away.

Arsha threw her reply over her shoulder, “It's no fun if you can't get caught!” Then she slipped away into the shadows that clung to the city walls.

Brynjolf grinned. The lass had the spirit that the Guild had been missing.

Arsha spent the next few days doing jobs for Delvin and Vex as well as occasionally sparring with Brynjolf in the training room. He still won every time.

Now, Arsha was pacing the training room, waiting for Brynjolf to show up so that they could spar one more time. It was late, almost midnight. In the morning she would be leaving for Goldenglow, so she was trying to get some last minute training in.

As she turned to begin another lap around the room Brynjolf appeared in the doorway. His usual grin was missing. “You ready, lass?” Arsha nodded and the two fell into fighting stances. “Go,” he said as soon as they had both settled into their stances. There would be no small talk or taunting tonight.

Arsha lept at Brynjolf, her daggers a blur. This would not be a slow fight. He responded to her attacks by dodging smoothly and bringing his blades up to scrape her side. She blocked.

They broke apart for only a second before Brynjolf rushed at her in a whirlwind of attacks. He gained a hit, but Arsha didn't pause. Attack. Block. Counterattack. Block. Block. Swing. Miss. Another hit for Brynjolf. Attack. Attack. Block. Attack. A hit for Arsha. Spin. Attack. Block. Dodge. Clash. Block. Attack. Another hit for Arsha. They were tied.

They broke apart again, circling each other. The entire exchange had taken only a few seconds. Without warning, Arsha lunged at Brynjolf. He barely managed to block the dagger in time. He recovered quickly and retaliated with a storm of blows. Arsha blocked and counterattacked again and again, but Brynjolf gained two more hits.

Arsha’s eyes narrowed and she threw herself at Brynjolf jabbing and slashing. He blocked but she didn't give him the chance to launch a counter attack. She scored one, two hits. They were even again.

Brynjolf fought against her continued barrage of attacks. He pushed against her daggers causing her to stumble. He pounced, but she recovered in a flash and his attack was met with a firm defense. In an instant Arsha’s defense turned to a flurry of well-timed attacks. Brynjolf blocked furiously and responded with powerful counterattacks only to have them blocked. Arsha attacked again with a massive burst of energy. This time Brynjolf's defense couldn't prevent one of her daggers from landing. They both froze. Arsha looked down at her glass dagger which was digging into the leather above Brynjolf's heart.

“You win, lass.” Brynjolf declared. Arsha thought she heard a bit of pride in his voice. She looked at her dagger again and let out a small sigh of relief. She sheathed them both and shook Brynjolf's hand.

They looked at each other for a long minute, not speaking. Eventually, Brynjolf broke the silence saying, “Good luck, Arsha.”

Her mask hid the small smile she wore. “Thank you, Brynjolf.” Brynjolf nodded, smiling slightly and Arsha left.


	5. Chapter 5

Arsha crept around the walls that surrounded Goldenglow Estate. So far no one had seen her, but she knew that it wouldn't last. She neared the beehives, fire flickering in her gloved hands. She sent a bolt of fire into one of the hives. Soon she had set three of them alight.

The smoke rose into the air and frenzied shouts began to sound. The mercenaries that Aringoth had hired were running toward the flaming hives. Good.

As she snuck toward the house, Arsha met very little resistance. Apparently, the beehives had sent almost everyone running. Those that hadn't gone to the hives stood around the doors of Goldenglow. The two guarding the door closest to her fell, clutching arrows in their throats.

Arsha entered the house cautiously. She knew the safe was in the basement, but it was most likely locked. If she could find Aringoth and make him give her the key it would save time.

She snuck through the house slaying all of the guards. When she reached the top level a group of three mercenaries gave her a bit of trouble. One managed to cut her right arm pretty badly. Arsha hissed in pain and stabbed the offending nord in the stomach before slitting his throat. His two companions died quickly.

Once she had healed her arm, Arsha continued on making her way towards Aringoth's room. The mercenaries outside of the door fell quickly and she snuck in. Aringoth was hiding in a corner, cowering.

Arsha snuck towards him carefully. Eventually, she was close enough to steal the key he kept in his pocket along with a few other valuables. She had had almost made it out of the room when something caught her eye. She snatched the bee statue. Maybe Delvin would like it.

Arsha made her way down to the basement where the safe was kept. A few more mercenaries tried to stop her. They died.

She reached the safe and emptied it of its contents. She cursed softly when she found a paper saying that Aringoth had sold Goldenglow. This was not good. She used the sewer passage that Vex had mentioned to escape the house unnoticed.

Before long she was outside. One of the few mercenaries left saw her and tried to shoot her. His comrades ran toward her, but Arsha merely cast a breathe water spell and dove into the lake. Eventually, she resurfaced near the city walls.

A few minutes later she was descending the ladder in the Cistern. Mercer was leaning on his desk studying something. Arsha marched over and placed the paper in front of him. Mercer looked up, annoyed. “What do you want?”

“Aringoth sold Goldenglow.” Arsha would have laughed at the look on Mercer’s face if she knew she wouldn't be killed for it.

Mercer was about to speak when another voice said, “Stupid elf. He should know better than to cut Maven out of a deal. Any clue as to who the buyer is, lass?”

Arsha turned to Brynjolf. “Only this symbol,” she said pointing at the paper. “Ever seen it before?”

Brynjolf studied the strange image before sighing, “No, but I'm sure we can find someone who has.”

Arsha nodded and headed for the Flagon. She heard Brynjolf say something to Mercer before following her.

“Where are you going, lass?” he inquired when he caught up to her.

Arsha shrugged. “I don't know. I might see if Delvin has any good jobs for me.”

“You just got back, lass! At least wait until tomorrow.”

Arsha was about to decline when Brynjolf added, “Besides, its Midsummer’s Eve. Vekel is throwing a party. You don't want to miss one of Vekel’s parties!”

Arsha rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'll stay.” Brynjolf grinned and led the way to the Flagon.

They sat down at the bar and Brynjolf looked at her expectantly. Arsha rolled her eyes again and ordered a mead. Brynjolf's eyes widened. Arsha laughed. “Don't get your hopes up, Bryn.”

She held out her hands and they glowed with a purplish light. She cast the spell and reached up to her hood. She pulled it down and Brynjolf's eyes widened.

“It's a spell of illusion,” she said in response to his confused look. “It makes it seem like I still have my hood and mask on.” She pulled her mask off as she spoke and laid it on the counter.

“How do you keep it going?” Brynjolf asked.

“The illusion is built into the armor. Once I trigger it the spell slowly drains my magicka but my magicka regenerates fast enough to cancel out the effects of the spell. Basically, I could run the spell forever.” She took a long drink from the mead savoring the taste.

“What would happen if you got knocked out?”

“If I was somehow cut off from my magicka supply in any way the spell would feed off of any soul gems in the area and then the armor itself. The energy from the armor alone could feed the spell for weeks.”

“There goes that idea,” Brynjolf said grinning. Arsha laughed and took a large swallow of the mead. “Maybe I can get you to dispel that illusion eventually.”

Arsha laughed again. “You can try, Bryn, but I'll never get that drunk.”

“That sounds like a challenge, lass,” Brynjolf said grinning. He ordered her another mead causing Arsha to grin and finish her bottle.

Quite a few drinks and hours later, the party was in full swing. Different Guild members took turns telling stories and singing songs. For awhile Arsha listened to the different member's tales. Some were bold and cocky, others were somewhat timid, but always witty. A few of the stories she could tell were outright lies, others may have been true, but she couldn’t really tell.

She loved that about the Guild. Liars and thieves were who they were. They would lie to their Guild Members just as quickly as they would to a guard. Yet these lies were different. They were told with love. Love for the trick and love for the people they told them to. It was a strange kind of love, but it was love nonetheless.

Eventually, Brynjolf became too drunk to have a steady conversation with, although Arsha was impressed with the number of drinks he managed to put back before that happened. Many others around the Flagon were the same way. They were stumbling around and generally acting quite drunk. It was an interesting sight.

After about an hour of watching the people around her get more and more drunk, she decided to head to bed. The mead wasn’t affecting her much, but she was tired enough that she figured she should crash in the bunk that Brynjolf had offered her. The Cistern was empty. Mercer wasn’t at his desk and Arsha hadn’t seen him at the party, but she was too tired to think about it much. She made it to her bed and collapsed, as soon as she had hidden a dagger under her pillow. One could never be too careful.

Arsha awoke with a start to feel someone’s hands on her hood. She whipped her dagger out from under her pillow and placed it under the person’s neck in an instant. They froze, hands still clutching her hood.

“Let. Go,” Arsha growled at them menacingly. The person appeared to be Thrynn, the former bandit.

“I don’t thinksh sho,” Thrynn spoke with the slur of someone too drunk to know what they were doing. That didn’t change Arsha’s threat. “I’sh been dared to take off that mashk of yoursh, and thash wha’ I’m gonna do.” Arsha realized that there were likely other Guild Members nearby, watching, but she didn’t really care. No one touched her hood and mask.

“Let go. Right now,” she told him again, more forcefully this time. Her blade pushed a little harder into his throat drawing a small amount of blood.

“Nosh!” he slurred drunkenly.

“I said, let go!” she was about to push even harder on her dagger when someone grabbed her hand. She thought about yanking her arm away, but for some reason, she didn’t.

Instead, she turned her head to see Brynjolf standing there, his green eyes bright and alert and not drunken looking at all. “Lass…” he warned and she dropped her arm to her side. Thrynn let go of her hood at the same time.

She reached up with her free hand to make sure her hood and mask were in place before twisting out of Brynjolf’s grip. She sheathed her dagger in one graceful movement before turning swiftly away and striding toward the ladder that led out of the Cistern and into Riften. She was gone in an instant.


	6. Chapter6

Crunch! Brynjolf’s daggers sunk into either side of the dummy’s head. He stepped back, breathing hard, to look at his handiwork. The training room dummy was in pieces. Brynjolf had been hacking at it for who knows how long. He had had a hard time sleeping lately, so here he was. Sighing in both satisfaction and exhaustion, he turned to grab a rag and clean up. 

 

From the entrance of the room, a voice spoke saying, “You’re slipping, Brynjolf.” Startled, Brynjolf whipped around. When he saw who it was he relaxed, but only slightly.

“Oh, Mercer, it’s you. Did you say something?” Why was he here?

 

“I said you’re slipping. Word has it that that new recruit of yours beat you in a duel. Not only that, apparently she gave you a hard time even when you won. That can’t be true, though.” Mercer’s voice was dripping disapproval for both Brynjolf’s lack of skill and for his recruit.

 

“Aye, you heard correctly Mercer,” Brynjolf admitted, unashamed. “For once the rumors around here are true. Arsha won our duel right before she went to Goldenglow.” Brynjolf felt a strange urge to defend the lass. She had done well at Goldenglow despite her only having one week to train.

 

Mercer sneered at Brynjolf. “How the mighty have fallen. You are constantly bragging about your blade skills, Brynjolf, and somehow a recruit, who hadn’t even completed her first real mission yet, beat you.”

 

The way Mercer smirked at him set Brynjolf’s blood on fire and he snapped. “I only boast when there’s truth to it, Mercer. I haven’t been slipping. The lass is that good!” One glance at Mercer told Brynjolf that he would regret his outburst later. Frey had that plotting look on his face. To Brynjolf’s surprise, Mercer changed the subject, although the new one was no better than the old.

 

“Your recruit almost killed Thrynn last night.”

 

“They got in a fight, it happens,” Brynjolf said carefully still wary of Mercer’s true intentions. “No one was hurt much. Thrynn was trying to prank Arsha and the lass didn’t take well to it is all.”

 

“I know what happened. Thrynn tried to take Arsha’s mask and she almost slit his throat.” The way Mercer said her name so disdainfully made Brynjolf’s skin crawl.

 

“Thrynn is fine, Mercer!” Brynjolf exclaimed, unable to believe that they were having this conversation. “The lass stopped herself! It’s Thrynn’s fault anyway. He shouldn’t have tried to take off Arsha’s mask. If she wants to wear it she can!” 

 

Mercer’s eyes narrowed and Brynjolf knew he was about to regret everything he had just said. “You don’t make that call. I do.”

 

“You’re going to make her take her mask off?” Brynjolf didn’t know why the lass hid her face, but it didn’t matter now. She was part of the family, and family meant accepting each other as they were, masks and all.

 

“Yes, I am. Unless…” Mercer’s voice trailed off into thoughtful silence. 

 

Brynjolf knew that Mercer was playing him, but he couldn’t help himself. “Unless what?”

 

“You seem to have two problems. Your recruit needs to keep her precious mask and you need to prove that your skills aren’t slipping. We’ll kill two birds with one stone. Your little recruit will duel me to earn the right to hide her face. If she wins she is as good as you say. If she loses the mask goes and you stay in the Cistern, no missions until your swordplay improves. To make the duel fair I’ll even use daggers instead of my swords.”

 

Brynjolf was speechless. Mercer was insane! The lass had barely beat him, and Mercer was the best bladesman in the entire guild and possibly one of the best in all of Skyrim! 

 

Mercer’s smirk grew into an almost evil grin. “It’s almost dawn. The duel will be tomorrow morning.” With that, Mercer Frey turned and walked out of the training room.

 

Brynjolf turned back to the training dummy and yanked his daggers out. Fuming, he shoved the daggers into their sheaths and stalked out of the room to find Arsha. It was going to be a very long day.

 

Arsha stared thoughtfully at the pre-dawn sky. She had spent the day before running around Riften doing small jobs for Vex and Delvin. When night had fallen she hadn’t stayed in the Cistern. Instead, she had picked up a mission from Delvin and said that she would turn it in in the morning. The mission had been a simple fishing job. That she had finished in under an hour. She had spent the rest of the night wandering around Riften and the surrounding woods, unable to sleep. About thirty minutes ago she had wound up in the Riften Graveyard and knelt in front of the Shrine of Talos. She was still there.

 

She heard the stone that led to the Cistern scratch against the rock as someone exited the Guild. Arsha thought about moving, but instead, she stayed where she was gazing past the statue of Talos and into the misty blue-purple sky.

 

Whoever had come out of the Guild walked up behind her. They stood there for a few seconds as if hesitating before kneeling next to Arsha. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brynjolf, his hood down and drenched in sweat. His head was bowed. He stayed like that for a few minutes before standing and placing a hesitant hand on Arsha’s shoulder. Arsha bowed her head one more time and then rose. 

 

“I never took you for the ‘pray for divine intervention’ type, Brynjolf,” she said turning to look at him properly. His face and posture were expressionless, telling her nothing, but his eyes shimmered with worry. Something was wrong. 

 

“Only when I need it, lass.”

 

“What happened? Has Mercer decided to kick me out yet?” Arsha kept her tone light, but she was worried. She actually liked the Guild. She wasn't ready to move on just yet.

 

“Not quite.” Brynjolf took a deep breath. This must really be serious. “He wants you to duel him tomorrow. If you lose he’s going to order you to take off your mask or leave the Guild.” 

 

Arsha let out a hiss. “He can try!” she spat angrily. 

 

“Look, lass, you’ve only beaten me once, and Mercer is the best bladesman there is. He trained me.” Brynjolf’s voice was pleading, begging her to understand the difficulty of Mercer’s challenge.

 

“That’s why he wants me to duel him, isn’t it? He’s mad at me for beating you. He trained you, so your loss was, by extension, his loss. He wants to prove that he’s the best.” Arsha almost laughed at the stupidity of the whole thing.

 

Brynjolf sighed wearily. “Aye, that’s about it. If you lose he’s going to force me to stay in the Cistern until my, ‘swordplay improves’. He knows I wouldn’t dare disobey him. It would risk my position in the Guild.” 

 

“When is the duel?” Arsha heard the hardness in her voice, and she didn’t care. Mercer was going to be taught a lesson. 

 

“It’s tomorrow morning.”

 

“I’ll be there.” Arsha moved to leave.

 

“Don’t you want to go to the training room, lass?”

 

“No.” Arsha’s reply was short and terse. 

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Why did Brynjolf have to ask so many questions? “To decapitate some bandits.” Arsha turned and walked over to the gate that led from the graveyard to outside of Riften. She called over her shoulder to Brynjolf, “Tell Delvin I finished his fishing job.” Then she walked out of the city.

 

As the gate slammed behind her Arsha couldn’t help but feel slightly bad for Brynjolf. He had to trust her to win the duel in order to avoid the humiliation that would surely come with being forced to practice all day like a novice. That punishment wasn’t nearly as bad as what Mercer had planned for her, though. If Arsha lost the duel she would have to leave. She couldn’t reveal her identity, even if it cost her her life with the Guild. She groaned in dismay at the thought of going back to her old way of life. How had she gotten so attached to the Guild in so short a time? Arsha groaned again and then shook her head violently to clear it. Then she placed a hand on one of the daggers that hung at her side. Woe to any bandit who crossed her path today! 

 

Brynjolf watched Arsha storm through the gate, a sense of dread filling him. His only hope had just fled Riften. It wasn’t the thought of having to train as if he was some raw recruit that bothered him, although it would be embarrassing, it was the message that Mercer Frey was sending. It was as if he was establishing dominance over Arsha or something ridiculous like that. He had been acting… different lately. Brynjolf hoped it was just a strange mood and that Mercer would get over it soon. He wasn’t sure he could take much more.

 

He sighed and walked over to the entrance of the Cistern. He hesitated before pressing the button, though. The sun was just beginning to rise. No one in the Guild would be awake, except Mercer. Did he really want to go down there and awkwardly try to avoid Mercer? No, he didn’t, but what else did he have to do? He glanced over at the gate that led out of Riften. An idea wormed its way into Brynjolf’s mind. Well, he could always follow Arsha. That might not be the best idea, though, judging from the look in her eyes a few minutes ago. It was hard to tell if she was joking about decapitating bandits. He didn’t think she was. 

 

Brynjolf’s feet refused to listen to reason, however, and he found himself outside of the city’s walls sneaking along looking for Arsha’s trail. When he had been judging her skills, she had shown him her ability for covering her tracks. It had been almost impossible for him to find her. Luckily she didn’t seem to be trying to hide. 

 

Her trail led him south away from the city towards the mountains. As he neared them he heard the unmistakable sounds of battle. The sound of steel ringing, men grunting in effort, yells of pain, and bows twanging. Brynjolf crept towards the sound wondering if Arsha needed his help. When he reached the site of the battle, however, he realized he couldn’t have been more wrong. 

 

Arsha was fighting a group of seven bandits, alone. Four of them had already fallen. One of them had an arrow in his skull and the other three were missing their heads. She had said she was going to decapitate them. The rest of the bandits didn’t look too keen on attacking Arsha. One of them, an archer, held back and looked for an opening. The other two circled her warily.

 

Arsha taunted them, drawing just within reach of their blades and then jumping back again when they swung. The bandits were growing increasingly frustrated. One of them, a large nord, rushed at her, but she just stepped out of the way and slashed her daggers down his back, leaving deep grooves in his steel armor.

 

The other one, a female Redguard, stayed back and waited for Arsha to drop her guard. The Nord made another pass at her, and this time Arsha ducked under the blade and stabbed the bandit in a weak spot near his knee. He let out a howl of pain and dropped to one knee. Arsha turned away from him and toward the Redguard. The Redguard lunged at her, but she never made it to Arsha. Instead, the bandit fell with an arrow lodged in the back of her head. The archer, a Bosmer male, had tried to shoot Arsha, but she had led the Redguard into her place instead.

 

The Bosmer lowered his bow in shock, and Arsha took advantage of it. She dropped one of her daggers and drew a knife from one of the many sheaths that hung from a belt at her waist. In a movement so swift Brynjolf had trouble seeing it, she threw the knife, and it embedded itself in between the stunned elf’s eyes. Arsha picked her dagger up off the ground and sheathed it. Then she walked over to the dead archer and wrenched her knife from his forehead. The nord groaned in pain and she walked over to him. He tried to stand, but his knees quickly buckled. Arsha ended him with a quick slash of her daggers over the bandit’s throat.

 

When she was done Brynjolf saw her turn towards him. Once he was sure she had seen him, he put his hands together in a round of applause. “That was quite a show, lass.” He stated with a grin. 

 

“I don’t appreciate being followed, Brynjolf.” Arsha’s eyes were hard, but then they softened. “Did Mercer throw you out?”

 

Brynjolf shook his head. “I didn’t give him the chance. After our little talk, I figured no one would be awake in the Guild, other than Mercer, so I followed you.”

 

“I wouldn’t have stayed with Mercer either.” Arsha said, then paused before adding, “I probably would have killed him.” 

 

“Is that why you’re out here?” Arsha bristled at the question, but Brynjolf wasn’t trying to accuse her of anything. She relaxed her posture and said, 

 

“Yes. If I don’t blow off some steam I might actually kill Mercer tomorrow.” Brynjolf nodded in understanding. He didn't actually believe she could, but at the very least she would have tried. 

 

“Aye. I have to do the same thing now and again. Though normally I just drink, not… this.” He gestured at the death surrounding Arsha. She scoffed in reply. Brynjolf shook his finger at her. “Don’t tell me you’ve never sat down and drunk all of your problems away.” 

 

Arsha shook her head with a humorless laugh. “I’d drown before I got drunk enough to forget all of my problems.” Brynjolf was curious, but he didn’t inquire further. Instead, he glanced up at the sky. 

 

“The sun says it’s almost nine o’clock. I should head on back to the Guild before anyone misses me. You coming, lass?” If he didn’t get back soon the other Guild members would pummel him with questions.

 

Arsha shook her head. “I won’t be returning to the Guild today. I’ll be back in time for the duel, trust me. Remember to tell Delvin that I completed his job.”

 

“I will, lass, but are you sure you won’t come back? People might think you’re running from Mercer.” 

 

Arsha’s eyes narrowed and her gaze hardened. “They’d be wrong. I will be there tomorrow.” Her voice was sharp. Brynjolf raised his hands in surrender.

 

“Suit yourself,” he said and turned away from Arsha. He began to walk back towards Riften. He was a little way down the path when he turned back and called, “Be careful! You need to be in your best shape tomorrow!” He saw Arsha shake her head and he thought he heard her laugh. She waved a hand at him and shooed him on his way. 

 

Arsha watched Brynjolf until he disappeared from view. Then she surveyed the destruction she had caused. Killing the bandits had released most of her pent-up frustration, but not all of it. She quickly emptied the pockets of the bandits of anything valuable. When she was done she turned and walked down the same path Brynjolf had used, searching for a battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's Herenya! I have a request for all of you creative, artistic types out there! Towards the beginning of this chapter, Brynjolf talks to Arsha in the graveyard, and I would really really like someone to draw a fanart of it! I can't get the image out of my head!!! This is the description from the chapter:
> 
> "Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brynjolf, his hood down and drenched in sweat. His head was bowed."
> 
> If you do decide to draw this, be sure to let me know if you have questions! Thank you!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

Brynjolf eyed the button. He knew he had to, but he really didn’t want to enter the Guild. Out of nowhere, Arsha’s voice popped into his head, ‘Remember to tell Delvin that I completed his job.’ Brynjolf halfheartedly muttered a curse. Now he had to go back. 

 

He glared at the button for a few more seconds before jabbing it with his thumb. The stone slab slid backward, and before he could change his mind, he descended the steps and scrambled down the ladder. 

 

The Cistern was dark and, surprisingly, empty. He heard the sound of steel clashing. Someone was using the training room. Brynjolf looked over at Mercer’s desk, but he wasn’t there. Another clash rang out. It seemed that the mighty Mercer Frey was doing some training. The thought of Mercer feeling the need to train for the upcoming duel made Brynjolf grin. Maybe the Guildmaster wasn’t as confident as he appeared to be. 

 

It was with slightly more spring in his step that Brynjolf walked into the Ragged Flagon. When he saw the looks on everyone’s faces, though, the tiny amount of hope he had died. He walked over to Delvin’s table and sat down. Delvin looked at him like he was envisioning the type of flowers he would put on his grave. Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m not dead yet, Del. You can postpone the funeral arrangements.” He tried to keep his tone light and playful, but he failed.

 

“Normally I would, but Bryn, this is Mercer we’re talking about,” Delvin replied mournfully.

 

From her shadowy corner, Vex spoke up, “Even I can’t argue with Delvin on this one.” She shook her head hopelessly. “We’d be laughing at you for getting shown up, but when Mercer proves a point he doesn’t mess around.” She shrugged. “You’re dead, Brynjolf.”

 

“The amount of confidence you two have in my skill is awe-inspiring,” Brynjolf said dryly. “But I’m not the one dueling Mercer.” Everyone in the room looked surprised at this news, which confused Brynjolf. “He didn’t tell you? Arsha’s dueling him, not me. Mercer’s only involving me if the lass loses, then he’ll force me to go through basic training again.” Brynjolf grimaced. “Not that I’m eager to.”

 

There was stunned silence while everyone processed what Brynjolf had just said then Vekel voiced what was on everyone’s mind. “Mercer is dueling the recruit? She’ll be killed!” 

 

Brynjolf nodded woefully. “Don’t get me wrong, the lass is good. She’s given me a run for my money more than once, but Mercer’s the best.” 

 

Everyone nodded in agreement. There was silence while they all soaked up the hopelessness of the situation. From the platform in the middle of the room, Tonilia spoke, “Why? Why Arsha?” Other people around the room echoed her question.

 

“Partially to prove that my skills are slipping. The lass beat me, so if Mercer beats her he’ll consider that proof of my ‘failure’. But it’s also to punish her for that little fiasco with Thrynn the other night.” As he spoke Brynjolf caught Thrynn’s eye and fixed him with a disapproving stare. Thrynn looked down at the floor, ashamed. “If Arsha loses she has to stop wearing her mask.” At this, a few people gasped. They all knew she was very attached to that mask. 

 

From the side of the room, Thrynn spoke up, “She won’t do it. She won’t let Mercer take it from her. If she loses she’ll leave the Guild.”

 

Brynjolf nodded slowly, “Aye, she will.”

 

Yet again silence filled the room. It was a heavy, oppressive silence. Then from behind his counter, Vekel pulled a bottle of Black-Briar Mead. He set it down in front of Brynjolf and said gravely, “On the house, you’ll need it.” 

 

Brynjolf grabbed the bottle, but he didn’t drink it. Instead, he turned to Delvin. “Arsha told me to tell you that she finished that job you gave her. She’ll pick up her pay tomorrow.”

 

Delvin nodded then asked, “Where is she?”

 

“She’s blowing off some steam by decapitating bandits,” Brynjolf said as casually as he could. Delvin raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t question further. 

 

Brynjolf spent the rest of the day moping around the Flagon. Several people offered him drinks but he turned them down, even though drinking his worries away sounded like a wonderful idea. He figured Arsha wouldn’t appreciate it if he was in bed with a hangover while she was dueling. 

 

Eventually, he walked back to the Cistern. He could hear Mercer practicing even though it was almost eight o’clock. He had been training all day. Hopefully, he would be tired or sore tomorrow, but Brynjolf doubted it. Even though Mercer seemed to spend all of his time behind his desk he was still fit. Some people got all the luck. 

 

With a self-pitying sigh, Brynjolf plopped onto his bed. For a while, he stared at the ceiling not even remotely tired. When he finally did fall asleep his dreams were restless. In his dream, Arsha lost the duel, and she was forced to leave the Guild. To Brynjolf’s horror it wasn’t Mercer, but him, who ordered her to leave. Arsha looked at him with such anger and sadness that Brynjolf woke, shaking. The dream confused him. Why was he having a nightmare about the lass getting thrown from the Guild? Had he really grown so fond of her that the thought of her leaving gave him nightmares? Brynjolf shook his head vigorously to clear it of thought. Then he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. After what seemed like ages the realm of sleep welcomed him again, but it was far from restful. 

 

When Brynjolf awoke it was to the crash of thunder and lightning. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he got up and looked around the Cistern. A few people were moving about while others were still sound asleep. With a groan, Brynjolf got out of bed in search of Delvin or Vex. Delvin was still sleeping, but Vex was up. Brynjolf found her leaning on the entrance to the training room. “What time is it?” Brynjolf asked her with a yawn. 

 

“Almost five in the morning. Dawn would normally be about seven. Mercer said morning, so I expect he’ll show up a few minutes before dawn expecting a fight.” Brynjolf nodded. It made sense, in a dishonest thief kind of way. “If Arsha doesn’t show up soon she’ll be disqualified.”

 

“She’ll show,” Brynjolf said with confidence he didn’t feel. In his head, he whispered a silent plea. ‘Come on, lass. Don’t let me down.’ 

 

Arsha was perched in a tree just outside of Riften’s walls. The storm was howling around her and every now and again a blast of wind would shake the tree she sat in. She breathed in the smell of rain, and it calmed her. She loved storms. They were dangerous and hard to predict, not unlike herself.

 

The sky showed no signs of lightening even though dawn was now only half an hour away. Arsha knew she should head back to the Guild. Mercer would be expecting a fight at dawn. Something held her back though. Here in the storm, she felt at peace, surrounded by this chaos. She drew one more deep breath into her lungs and then jumped from the tree to the ground. She landed lightly and made her way to the front gates. Yet again the guards were asleep at their posts and yet again one of them lost their key to the gates of the city. 

 

She slipped quietly through the gates. The empty streets of Riften echoed with the noise of the rain. Thunder blasted through the town filling Arsha with new energy. Silently she raced through Riften until she reached the graveyard. Once there she snuck over to the Guild’s entrance. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing the Shadowmark button. The stone slid back and Arsha walked into the already familiar darkness. 

 

When she entered the Cistern there was no one there, but she heard a loud commotion coming from the Guild training room. So that was where the duel was to take place then. It was a bit small. She crept towards the training room. Luckily they hadn’t blocked the doorway and so she slipped in unnoticed. Mercer Frey was speaking and his triumphant tone grated on Arsha’s ears. “She’s not here. Is she afraid to show her face?”

 

Arsha stepped out of the shadows and felt the eyes of everyone in the Guild on her. “She is not.” 

 

“She is not.” The lass said it with such authority and conviction that Brynjolf thought he saw Mercer flinch. The room went dead silent. All eyes flickered between Mercer, whose barely concealed look of rage was almost amusing, and Arsha, whose bearing radiated confidence and power. Her black leathers sparkled with rain and she seemed to wear them differently. They no longer cloaked her in shadow. Instead, she seemed to be throwing the shadows away from her.

 

The two of them stood in silence awhile until Arsha said, with a gesture at the room, “A bit small for your audience, isn’t it?” Mercer didn’t reply, but he did look around the room, as did Brynjolf. It was too small. Everyone in the Guild wanted to watch the fight, and that meant that everyone was crowded into the training room. 

 

“Why don’t we go somewhere with a bit more space?”

 

“And where would that be?” Mercer growled in annoyance.

 

“The Cistern, of course. You and I get a bit more room to breathe, and everyone else can stand along the edges of the walkways.” Brynjolf nodded to himself. Delvin had mentioned something like that earlier. The lass had everything figured out.

 

Mercer considered her suggestion before nodding curtly. 

 

“Good, now that that’s settled there are just two more things to take care of,” she said easily. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow in surprise. The lass must have been feeling confident to make demands like that.

 

“Really now. Are you sure you’re not scared of losing? Because this looks a lot like stalling.” Mercer jeered at her. 

 

Arsha didn’t bristle like she normally did when Mercer mocked her, instead, she said in a calm voice, “In a few minutes you will see just how unafraid I am, but there are details to work out. For example, the rules. I assume you’ve set them.” There was something off about the lass’s voice. It seemed…unnatural and fake. Brynjolf doubted anyone else would notice though.

 

“I have.” Mercer’s tone was annoyed. “We duel to five hits, but we will be using blunted daggers.” Arsha’s eyes sparkled with a look scarily alike to that of a predator hunting prey. Brynjolf understood why. With normal daggers, you had to waste energy controlling your blows so as not to draw blood. Now that the daggers were blunted she could strike harder and faster than ever. “Vekel will keep your daggers and give us both a pair of blunted ones.” Mercer continued obviously missing the look in Arsha’s eyes. “He will be judging the duel.” That made sense. Vekel wasn’t technically a member of the Guild and so he was, in theory, unbiased. 

 

Vekel stepped forward and Arsha handed him her glass daggers. Then she took the blunted daggers from him. He did the same for Mercer. 

 

“Good. Now that that’s done, let’s do this.” Mercer said.

 

“One last thing Mercer. This duel is completely weighted in your favor. I get nothing if I win.” Mercer opened his mouth to protest, but Arsha silenced him. “I could walk out of here right now and the only person you’d get to punish would be Brynjolf. You’d miss the chance to prove your skill. Besides what’s the risk of raising the stakes? If you’re as good as everyone says I have no chance of beating you anyway.” Mercer’s glare would have made Brynjolf laugh normally. Arsha had led him into a trap. If he didn’t raise the stakes Mercer would look weak, and if he did he would risk Arsha gaining some leverage over him. 

 

“Fine!” Mercer spat. “What do you want?” 

 

“An apology to Brynjolf,” everyone looked shocked, but Arsha continued calmly, “for insulting his skill as a bladesman.” Brynjolf was stunned. Everyone knew that apologizing was the hardest thing a thief could do. Not only that, but Arsha hadn’t asked for anything for herself. 

 

When Mercer didn’t respond Arsha pointed out in an overly innocent voice, “It’s only if you lose.”

 

Mercer hissed reluctantly, “Fine. I accept your terms. Now let’s get this over with!”

Arsha nodded firmly. “Let’s.” She led the way out of the training room with Mercer at her heels. 

 

Arsha turned to face Mercer when they reached the middle of the Cistern. He was glaring at her with an intensity that made her proud to know that she was the cause of his annoyance. Mercer fell into an offensive fighting stance. They were skipping the formalities then. Arsha took up a defensive position. Mercer would attack first.

 

Vekel led the Guild members out of the training room. Arsha’s eyes followed Brynjolf as he walked to Mercer’s desk and stood next to it. She caught his eyes and he smiled confidently at her. Arsha sincerely hoped that confidence wasn’t misplaced. 

 

Vekel walked to the edge of the center platform. His gaze drifted from Arsha to Mercer and back again. His look was one of pity for her and it set Arsha’s blood on fire. He may doubt her ability but she would prove him and the others wrong. 

 

“Remember, five hits,” Vekel said glancing the both of them. “Ready? Begin.” 

 

Mercer Frey growled and pounced as soon as Vekel finished speaking. Arusha brought her daggers up, blocking his blow. Instead of pulling away, Mercer pushed harder against her daggers. 

 

Gritting her teeth Arsha pushed harder. Suddenly she pulled back, but Mercer didn’t stagger. He just sneered at her and attacked again. Arsha narrowed her eyes. If that was how he was going to play…

 

Brynjolf watched as Arsha failed to cause Mercer to stagger. It was a trick that she had used on him when they fought and he had fallen for it. Almost literally. Unfortunately, Mercer was on his best game and watching her every move like a hawk. 

 

He slashed at her face in a seemingly wild move, but Brynjolf knew from years of training that he would follow it with a carefully timed strike that always landed. Sure enough, his next blow landed on Arsha’s unprotected side. She let out an angry hiss as Vekel called out, “One hit for Mercer!”

 

Before he had finished speaking, Arsha had jumped out of the way of another of Mercer’s attacks and attempted to get several strikes in. Mercer blocked, dodged, and parried every single one. 

 

For the next few minutes, they exchanged fierce blows and strategic attacks. Neither of them managed to score a hit on the other. Brynjolf began to wonder how long they would fight. Mercer hadn’t set a time limit. They had to go until one of them reached five. He prayed that that person would be Arsha. 

 

His hope was quickly fading though. Arsha’s defense wavered for just an instant, but Mercer took advantage. He rammed his dagger past hers and stabbed her in the shoulder, hard. The blow must have hurt, but Arsha barely flinched. She regained her defense before Mercer could strike again, but he now had two hits while she had none. 

 

Brynjolf could sense Mercer’s confidence growing. A sneer decorated his face and he bit out sarcastic comments between blows. Arsha said nothing in reply, only kept up her defense and attacked every once in a while, only to be swiftly blocked by one of Mercer’s blades. 

 

This continued for long enough to make some of the Guild members restless. They began to mill around and a few shouted for more action. The shouting stopped though when Mercer scored a third hit on Arsha. 

 

Instead of becoming even more depressed, a seed of hope sprouted within Brynjolf. He didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he could feel that the dynamic of the fight had changed. Maybe it was the way that Arsha seemed to step more lightly or her daggers seemed to flash a little faster, but he knew that Arsha wasn’t done. In fact, as she began to push Mercer back and cause him to go on the defensive, he realized that she had been holding back. She had let him become overconfident and now she was making him pay. 

 

Within a minute she had scored a hit on him. They danced an intricate, deadly dance of parries and lunges. Of dodges and attacks. Their blades rang against each other in the now dead silent room. Mercer was no longer overconfident; his eyes were narrowed and his sneer had fallen from his face. Arsha, however, seemed to have a victorious shine in her eyes. 

 

They exchanged several more blows and Arsha managed to sneak one of her daggers through a hole in Mercer’s defense. He growled angrily at her and pushed her back with forceful blows that she barely blocked.

 

He tried to slip his daggers past hers, but she always danced just out of his reach. Then she would dart back in and take a swipe at him. He would block it and the process would repeat. Eventually, he didn’t block one of her daggers fast enough. They were tied now; three-three. 

 

They both fought with a renewed energy that amazed Brynjolf. How did they still have the energy to fight even harder and faster after all this time? They both possessed more strength than he had given them credit for.

 

Their deadly dance was nearing its end though. He could feel it in the air, in the way their circles grew increasingly closer, in the way their blades flashed faster and faster, in the way the ringing of steel on steel had seemed to grow louder with every strike.

 

An involuntary gasp escaped him when he saw Mercer’s blade resting on Arsha’s side. He had moved so quickly that Brynjolf hadn’t seen the strike. But now he was frozen, one dagger on Arsha’s side and the other hanging limply at his. When Brynjolf looked up, he saw why.

 

Arsha had moved faster than he had ever thought possible. As Mercer had gotten his fourth hit on her, she had abandoned her defense. Mercer had had to get in close to strike her, and she seized the opportunity with both hands. Instead of blocking the blow, she had raised both of her daggers and placed them on Mercer’s throat scoring not one, but two hits. She had won. 

 

“I win,” Arsha said, her voice as icy as a winter storm. “Now, apologize.”

 

If looks could kill, Arsha would be a pile of smoldering ashes. She appeared to be unaffected by Mercer’s death stare, though. 

 

Mercer growled something under his breath. Brynjolf spoke up saying with feigned innocence, “What was that? I didn't hear you, Mercer.” 

 

“I apologize for insulting your skill as a bladesman,” Mercer ground out. 

 

Brynjolf did his best to look like a king mercifully pardoning a wayward subject. “I accept your apology.” He knew he would pay for his remarks later, but the moment was too good to waste.

 

Mercer grumbled some more, but Brynjolf hardly noticed. His eyes were on the lass. Everyone had begun to swarm her with congratulations. She didn't seem to be very excited though. In fact, Brynjolf thought she looked tired. Despite her weariness, she called over the crowd, “Delvin, do you have the gold you owe me?”

 

"Aye, and a strong drink too,” he said laughing. Delvin led everyone back to the Flagon. On the way, Brynjolf caught up to Arsha. 

 

“Good fight, lass. Remind me not to get you angry,” he said, clapping her on the back with a grin. “You showed Mercer.”

 

The lass sighed, “Maybe, but we’ll pay for it soon.”

 

“Aye! But for now, let's enjoy it!” he replied over-enthusiastically. She was right of course. Mercer would be feeling sore about this for some time. Brynjolf shrugged inwardly. The priceless look on Mercer’s face as the lass placed her daggers at his throat was well worth the pain that would surely come their way.


	8. Chapter 8

The moment of Mercer’s revenge came much too swiftly for Arsha’s liking. Brynjolf had caught Arsha as she was leaving the Flagon for another job and pulled her to the side. “Hey, lass. Word’s gotten around that it was you who pulled the Goldenglow job. It’s caught the attention of Maven Blackbriar. She wants to meet with you. Now.” He sounded excited, but Arsha was slightly worried.

“Can you promise that I’ll come back?” she asked him. She had heard of Maven’s reputation, in fact, she had been involved in it a few years- she cut off the thought.

Brynjolf laughed and shook his head. “It’s not like that, lass. She just wants to talk.” Arsha narrowed her eyes suspiciously but nodded in acceptance anyway.

“I’ll go see her,” she said. “Oh, I think Mercer wanted to see you, Brynjolf. Be careful.” Brynjolf gave her a grimace before heading for the Cistern. Arsha followed him, heading for the secret entrance to the graveyard above.

Brynjolf headed toward Mercer’s desk and she heard the beginning of their conversation. Not really the words, but the tone. She had a feeling Brynjolf would not like the following discussion. Silently, she wished him good luck before climbing the ladder and entering the Riften graveyard.

The bright sunlight was almost blinding after the dimness of the Cistern. The light made her feel uncomfortable and exposed, but, after making sure her mask and hood were firmly secured, she strode out of the graveyard and into the streets of Riften anyway.

As she made her way to the Bee and Barb, a few citizens lost valuable items. She stuck to the shadows so well that people barely noticed her, so she was able to pick pockets with ease. By the time she had reached the doors of the inn her pockets were considerably heavier with her recently ‘acquired’ items.

When she stepped into the inn, she was met with a hostile stare from Keerava. She ignored the irritated Argonian and made her way over to Talen-Jei. The other Argonian looked nervous but not angry or scared. “I’m looking for Maven Blackbriar. Oh, and I have those flawless amethysts you were wanting.”

For a few moments, Talen-Jei was frozen in a silent shock. When he finally did regain his ability to speak he thanked her profusely, causing Arsha to squirm uncomfortably. She was a thief; she wasn’t used to people showing her gratitude. Finally, she cut him off. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Now, can you show me where Maven is? I need to speak with her.”

Talen-Jei nodded and led the way up the wooden stairs the way he had hen Arsha had rented her room that first night. This time, however, instead of leading her to one of the rooms when they reached the top of the stairs, the Argonian gestured to a shadowed alcove.

“Thank you again,” Talen-Jei said in a reptilian whisper before disappearing back down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, Arsha strode forward until she was standing across from Maven Blackbriar. The woman looked her over with a critical eye for a few moments before saying, “So you’re the one. Hmm. You don’t look very impressive.”

Arsha considered her responses for a moment before answering, “How about we skip the conversation?” She had a feeling that Maven was a person who respected strength. Luckily she was right, as Maven replied,

“You're a firebrand, aren't you? It's about time Brynjolf sent me someone with business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar's guild over there,” Maven declared, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Sit.”

Arsha sat in the chair, crossing her arms in front of herself. “You have no faith in the Guild,” she observed.

Maven laughed, “Faith? I don't have faith in anyone. All I care about is cause and effect. Did the job get done and was it done correctly. There's no gray area."

Arsha nodded. That was a very straightforward policy, one she could respect. “You won’t have that problem with me,” she assured the woman sitting across from her.

"I should hope not. This is an important job. I have a competitor called Honningbrew Meadery that I want to put out of business. I also want to know how they managed to get the place up and running so quickly." Maven proceeded to explain the job and Arsha began to plan for her upcoming trip. She would have to ask Delvin and Vex if they had any jobs in Whiterun for her to do while she was there.

Arsha made her way back to the Guild, again emptying the pockets of those she passed. She reached the graveyard and took a moment to pray at the statue of Talos before heading inside.

The Cistern was just as dark and damp as it had been when she had left it, but the air was heavy as if there had been an argument recently. Frowning slightly, she looked around. There were no clues as to what had happened though. Everyone seemed to be continuing on as normal, everyone except Mercer. Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, Mercer wore a small, but most definitely satisfied grin. That could not be good. She took another look around. Brynjolf wasn’t there. That wasn’t too strange, though. From what she knew about him, she figured he spent a lot of his time at the Flagon. She was heading that way already, so she decided to ask Brynjolf what had happened while she was there.

She walked into the Flagon and found Vex leaning against the wall, surrounded by shadows. Vex gave her a heist job for the Bannered Mare in her typical sarcastic manner. Arsha thanked her and looked around for Delvin. As she did, she realized that Brynjolf was nowhere to be found. She frowned thoughtfully and walked over to where Delvin was sitting.

“Hello, Delvin. Do you have any fishing jobs available in Whiterun?”

“Always. Is that where Mercer’s sendin’ ya’?” He asked as he handed her a slip of paper with the details of the job on it.

“No, Maven Blackbriar. Why?”

“Just wonderin’. Bryn came by and picked up a job or two for Whiterun too. He didn't look too happy about it either,” Delvin replied with a shrug.

Arsha narrowed her eyes as an idea came to her. With a soft curse, she said, “Excuse me, Delvin. I have to find Brynjolf.” She turned away.

“He’s in the trainin’ room. Probably hacking apart some poor dummy. He did not look happy.” Delvin called after her. Arsha nodded her thanks and went to talk to Brynjolf. If Merced had done what she thought he had done…

Brynjolf spun and sliced at the training dummy in front of him. Each stroke let a little bit of his anger and frustration out, but it was replenished every time he thought of what Mercer had just said. He had been walking around the Cistern absentmindedly when Mercer had called him over to his desk.

“Did you tell the recruit that Maven wants to see her?” He had asked in an almost accusatory tone that had put Brynjolf on edge.

“Yes. She’s on her way out now,” he had replied shortly.

“Good. Maven is going to ask her to take care of a competitor in Whiterun.” Brynjolf nodded carefully, wondering what this had to do with him. “And you’re going with her.” Mercer dealt the final blow.

Brynjolf stared at Mercer for a few moments, not sure if he had heard him correctly. He was the second in command, not some newbie that Mercer could push around! “Why?” he had finally asked.

Mercer had smirked at him. “Because you're the one who recruited her. She's your protégée.”

“Yes, I recruited her. I recruited almost everyone in this place! Why am I going with her on a mission that she can very clearly handle?” Brynjolf's voice had begun to rise. Mercer had raised an eyebrow at him, and Brynjolf had fought to get his emotions under control. “What is this really about Mercer?” Brynjolf had thought about asking if he was still sore over the duel he had lost, but he had restrained himself, barely.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Brynjolf.” Mercer had replied in a too smooth voice while turning back to the papers on his desk. “You should go get ready. Maven isn't a patient woman.” He had dismissed him without even looking up from his papers.

Brynjolf had bit back a growl that had threatened to escape and headed to the Flagon to get some jobs for Whiterun. He was going to end up doing a fair amount of thieving while he was there, out of sheer boredom, so he figured he might as well get paid for it.

After he had grabbed a few jobs from Delvin, he had headed to the training room. He had meant to work on his lockpicking, but he had been too frustrated to focus. Niruin and Rune had cleared out after he had broken five picks on the apprentice level chest. He had been very obviously annoyed.

Eventually, he had given up on lockpicking and decided to hack apart the dummies instead. That was where he was when Arsha had come in. She approached softly, but loud enough so that he could faintly hear her steps. He continued slashing at the dummy anyway. He didn't really want to talk. Especially not to her. It was after all, partially her fault that he had to go on this assignment. He knew that it was actually Mercer's fault, but he chose to be upset with her anyway.

Arsha didn't move or say anything for a while. Eventually, he began to tire, so he sheathed his daggers and grabbed a towel to dry off. Arsha just stood there silently, watching him, until he was done. Finally, she spoke. “He asked you to go with me, didn't he?” she asked him.

“No. He told me to go with you,” he replied tersely. Arsha nodded in understanding, clearly sensing that he didn't want to talk.

“I'll meet you at the stables in an hour. We should head out as soon as we can.” Brynjolf nodded shortly and turned away from her, cleaning his daggers. She left as quietly as she had come.

Brynjolf sighed slowly and put his daggers away. Hopefully, they could finish this job of Maven’s quickly and go back to a semi-normal relationship with Mercer. He really didn't like this version of him.

Brynjolf reached the stables an hour later, just in time to see Arsha leading two horses out of their stalls. She turned around as he approached and handed him the reigns of the larger of the two. He raised an eyebrow at her in question.

“Did you think I planned on walking to Whiterun?” she asked as she mounted her horse. Brynjolf said nothing but mounted his horse with ease. It would be nice to not have to walk.

As he sat in the saddle, he felt a strange feeling inside of himself. Excitement. It had been so long since he had been outside of Riften. Too long. This trip forced though it was, might be exactly the thing he needed. Enjoying the trip would also be a laugh in Mercer’s face if a silent one. He really did want to fix his and Mercer’s relationship so that they could work together to get the Guild back on its feet.

The first few hours of the ride passed pleasantly. There was a nice breeze in the air and no bandits attacked them. He and Arsha exchanged some small talk back and forth for a while before she fell silent, clearly thinking of other things. He thought about asking what was on her mind but decided against it. From the look on her face, she was thinking very deeply, and he didn’t want to interrupt her focus.

When night began to fall, he followed the lass off of the road and into a small clearing that looked to be the perfect place for a makeshift shelter. They tied their horses to some trees nearby and let them graze on the grass there.

Arsha set about putting up a small tent for herself. Within a few short minutes, she was done. The way she had put it up bespoke years of experience as did the ease with which she started a fire. Yet another skill with unknown origins. She really was quite the mystery.

He set his tent up as well, although he didn’t do it nearly as well as Arsha had. She watched him with eyes that hinted at humor, but she didn’t say anything. She still looked as if something was on her mind. As he was finishing up his tent, she left the makeshift camp without a word with her bow in hand. Brynjolf figured she had gone to hunt some food.

Sure enough, about half an hour later she came back with three dead rabbits in hand. She skinned them swiftly and her skill made him wonder yet again what kind of life she had lived. Before long there was a rabbit stew simmering in a bowl in front of him.

Brynjolf took a small sip carefully and nearly burnt his tongue off. Arsha laughed quietly at him from where she sat on the grass across the fire from him. He gave her a glare and set the bowl down. He decided to wait for a while for the soup to cool down. After a few moments, Arsha’s eyes got that faraway look in them again and he decided to ask her what was going on.

“Lass, I can see that look in your eyes. You aren’t having second thoughts about the Guild now, are you?” he asked her. For some reason, the idea worried him more than it should.

She looked up from her bowl with a start before answering in a distracted tone, “No. Just...thinking.”

“About?” he prompted her.

“The duel with Mercer. It was so---”

“Pointless,” he interjected. She nodded softly.

“Yes. There was really no reason for it. He could have just ordered me to take off my mask or kicked me out of the Guild. He didn’t have to make a show of it. I talked to Delvin and he said that Mercer hasn’t ever done anything like this before.”

Brynjolf nodded. He thought about Mercer’s recent behavior before answering, “We all have different ways of dealing with the hard times that the Guild is in right now. I sell fake potions at a market stall, Delvin blames it on a curse, Vex takes risky jobs, and Mercer tries to be aggressive. Maybe he thinks that if we start taking authority seriously in our own ranks, the rest of Skyrim will begin to take us seriously as well. Mercer has been a part of the Guild for a long time, and I think that watching it all fall apart has hit him hard.” Then Brynjolf smiled. “But you, lass, you could be just what we need to turn things around.”

Arsha nodded thoughtfully at his words before taking the first spoonful of her soup. Brynjolf eyed his warily. He didn’t want to burn his tongue again. Arsha saw his look and laughed. “It won’t bite you, Bryn. It’s good.” He mock scowled at her before trying the soup. Even though he had taken only a small spoonful, he could tell that it was delicious.

“Where did you learn to cook like this, lass?” he asked her, amazed. He hadn’t seen her put any fancy ingredients into the soup, but it tasted better than anything he had ever had back at the Guild.

Arsha’s eyes seemed to smile when she responded, “I spent a few years living in the wilds as a hunter. All food starts to taste the same after a while if you don’t learn how to prepare it.”

So the lass had been a hunter once upon a time. Brynjolf wondered what else she had done. The question of her backstory was on his lips, but he didn’t let the words cross his tongue. There was a look in her eyes that told him that she would evade all of his questions about her past with the same adeptness that she evaded his daggers when they dueled. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop trying to figure her out of course. It just meant he’d have to be a little bit more careful.

The rest of the meal passed with light conversation about different things. The lass would laugh every now and again at something he had said and he found that he loved the sound. Laughter was something that he had always tried to bring to the rather dreary atmosphere of the Guild, but nowadays it was rarely heard in abundance.

Eventually, they both headed to sleep in their tents. Brynjolf’s eyes shut as soon as his head hit his bedroll. He hadn’t realized how tired he had been. His usual nightmares, the ones that came to disrupt his sleep every night occurred as they always did, but they didn’t last nearly as long as normal. After they had passed he was able to fall into a deeper and much more restful sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like summaries... Do you guys even read the chapter summaries? I never do. *sigh*
> 
> Arsha and Brynjolf encounter skeevers. Lots and lots of skeevers. And a crazy mage.

Arsha’s eyes did not close immediately after she had slipped into her bedroll. For awhile she lay awake, thinking of the strange duel that Mercer had demanded of her and what would have happened if she had lost. The idea of being forced from the Guild because of a grudge that Mercer held still frightened her, but with Brynjolf’s explanation she found it didn’t bother her as much as it had earlier.

If Brynjolf was correct in his thinking, Mercer was just trying to put on a strong front for the sake of the Guild. She still wished that he could have found some other way to do it, but she understood where he was coming from. He had tried to use the newcomer as proof that the old Guild was still strong. If he had beaten her, that was the message that he would have believed he had sent.

The rest of the Guild didn’t see it like that, she knew. She could see it in their eyes when they spoke to her of the glory days of the Guild. They thought that the old Guild was dead and gone, but a few of them had hope that a new Guild could rise. Arsha sincerely hoped that it would and that she would somehow help make that happen.

She woke the next morning as the sun was just beginning to rise. The morning was cool and everything was damp with dew. Brynjolf was still asleep in his tent next to hers, so she went about making a breakfast for the both of them. It was an odd feeling, cooking for two people. It had been a very long time since anyone had travelled with her. If she had had her way, she would be alone right now. In fact she would probably be in Whiterun by now, having rode through the night. But she wasn’t alone and she wasn’t in Whiterun, and for some reason, she was okay with that.

Before very long she had their food ready. The smell had awoken Brynjolf who was now sitting across from her, a little bleary-eyed. Apparently the second-in-command was not a morning person. They ate, saying nothing as Brynjolf was still trying to wake up.

When they finished, they unpacked the camp and loaded their few items onto the horses before jumping on themselves. Then they were back on the road to Whiterun. Arsha figured that the trip today wouldn’t take more than a few hours. In fact, if everything went smoothly, they could finish the job for Maven and begin to head back to Riften today. With that thought in mind, she spurred her horse into a faster trot.

The conversation between her and Brynjolf was sparse, but she enjoyed it. His little offhand comments and sarcastic humor made her laugh to herself. Nevertheless, she answered any questions about her past carefully. She didn’t want to give away too much information, but she found it hard to refuse to answer his questions. Instead she answered his questions in short sentences and with as little information as she could. Brynjolf didn’t seem frustrated though. In fact he seemed a little excited. She had seen looks like that before. He was determined to figure her out. Arsha laughed to herself and silently wished him good luck. Her secrets were buried deep.

They made it to the gates of Whiterun about three hours later. It was only nine o’clock, so the market was just beginning to really come alive. Arsha saw her mark for the fishing job that Delvin had given her and within a few seconds she had a flawless ruby and Nazeem did not. Brynjolf also slipped away, undoubtedly to do his own set of jobs from Delvin and Vex. They met back up outside of the Bannered Mare where Maven’s contact, someone named Mallus, was supposed to be.

The conversation with Mallus was fairly short and straightforward. She and Brynjolf had to talk to the owner of the Meadery and convince him to let them use poison to get rid of a skeever infestation. Except they would be putting the poison in the mead vats so that when the commander of the Whiterun guard came to sample some mead, he would decide that the mead was contaminated and shut down Honningbrew.

Arsha thought briefly about how she would have solved a problem like this back when she was still a much darker person. She decided that this way was better. Sabjorn would end up in jail for quite some time, but it was better than being dead. Brynjolf shook her out of that train of thought when he stood from his seat across from Mallus and headed for the door of the inn. Arsha followed him, and soon they were back out in the sunlight of the day.

Arsha let Brynjolf lead the way down the streets of Whiterun and out of the city. Once they were past the gates, he slowed down to where he and Arsha were walking side by side. “I’ll let you take the lead from here, lass. Maven asked for you specifically, so you’re in charge. Just remember that we can’t do anything that might make that guard captain nervous.” Arsha nodded once and strode ahead.

The door to the meadery was open, so Arsha pushed it opened and stepped inside. The air in the building was sweet, but seemed to be tainted by something she couldn’t quite distinguish. That would be the skeever infestation that Mallus had mentioned. She shook her head and then walked over to the counter that a man, most likely the owner, Sabjorn, stood behind.

“What do you want? I’m very busy. Commander Caius is going to be here soon to taste my newest brew.” The man’s tone was dismissive, but Arsha could hear fear laced in it. He was worried about what might happen.

“Well, my friend and I heard that you’ve been having a skeever problem lately, so we thought we’d see if you needed some help, but you seem to have things under control,” Arsha said and turned around to walk out. She only made it a few steps before Sabjorn called after her in a desperate tone,

“Wait! I need to get rid of these skeevers before Caius gets here! Here, use this poison on the vermin’s nest and I’ll pay you. Just hurry!”

Arsha took the bottle of poison and tossed it back and forth between her gloved hands. “How about you pay me half now and half when I get done?”

Sabjorn glared at her for a few moments before he let out a long sigh and dug around behind the counter. “Fine, take this, and you’ll get the rest when those vermin are dead and their nest is poisoned,” he said as he handed her a heavy purse of gold.

Arsha nodded. “We’ll be back soon,” she said before walking over to the door that led to the cellar and pushing it open.

The instant Arsha opened the door to the cellar, she knew that this was not going to be fun. The air was damp and musty, the smell of mead mixed with the sharp, repugnant odor that only skeevers were capable of. Despite the darkness, Arsha could easily identify the hole that the skeevers had entered the meadery through. It appeared to lead to an even darker tunnel. With a quiet sigh, Arsha crept towards the tunnel, listening carefully for any hint of scurrying. She did not plan on being bit by a skeever today.

Together, Arsha and Brynjolf made their way through the dank tunnels. Every time they turned a corner, they were attacked by skeevers. They seemed bigger and more aggressive than the average, and Arsha was nearly bitten more than once. Brynjolf seemed to be holding his own just fine, although she had heard him let out a soft curse when one of the ugly rodents had jumped on him.

Arsha was about to turn a corner when Brynjolf put a hand on her shoulder. “Hold on, lass. I think there’s something in this next room.” Arsha shuddered slightly at his touch before nodding in acknowledgement. It had been a long time since she had had any physical contact with anyone outside of a fight; she was still adjusting to this new life of hers. She pushed that thought aside and stepped carefully into the room, her bow gripped in her gloved hand and an arrow already out of her quiver.

The room smelled even worse than the hallway had, and Arsha could immediately tell that the nest was here. Unfortunately, that meant that there were also quite a few skeevers here. The scratching of their claws across the floor made her sensitive ears twitch. She thought that she heard something else as well, but the skeevers’ scratching and scraping covered it.

Her first few arrows found their marks, eliminating the skeevers silently. Unfortunately, one of the skeevers managed to let out a strangled squeak before it died, alerting the other vermin to Arsha and Brynjolf’s presence. Soon, the two of them were fighting back to back in an effort to keep the numerous skeevers off of each other.

Out of the blue, Arsha felt a bolt of electricity run through her, causing her to let out a cry of surprise and pain. Brynjolf echoed her cry as the electricity passed to him. Arsha’s eyes swept the dim room for the source of the painful magic. They came to a rest on a man standing among the skeevers, both hands crackling with sparks.

Arsha leveled her bow and sent an arrow straight towards the mage’s throat, but one of those vile skeevers chose that moment to jump on her and fell with an arrow in its brain. Arsha readied another shot, but the skeevers swarmed her. Muttering a curse, she dropped her bow and pulled out her daggers instead, plunging one into the skull of a skeever that had attempted to bite her.

She and Brynjolf fought the skeevers off, slowly advancing towards the mage, who was still firing spells at them. Arsha winced in pain every time the electricity raced over her, but the mage seemed to be hitting the skeevers just as often as he was hitting the two of them.

Eventually, the mage seemed to run out of magicka, and his spells stopped. At that same moment, Brynjolf drove his dagger through the eye of the last skeever attacking them. Arsha watched as the confident sneer faltered and fell and fear began to show in his eyes.

Lunging forward, Arsha slashed her daggers at the mage’s torso, causing him to stumble backward hastily. She followed, slicing again, and this time managing to cut a thin line down one of his arms. By this time, some of the man’s magicka had returned, and he began to shock her again. Her armor absorbed most of the electricity, but it still hurt.

The mage soon turned his attention from her, though, as Brynjolf joined the fight, aiming a deadly stroke at the other man’s neck. The mage managed to avoid the blow, but only barely, and Arsha met his movement with an attack of her own. Facing both her and Brynjolf, the mage had no chance of victory. He fought viciously, but soon he was laying on the floor, one of Arsha’s daggers buried deep in his chest.

Ignoring the blood pooling on the ground, Arsha pulled her dagger out of the dead man’s chest and wiped it on his robe before carefully sheathing it. Then she walked over to the skeever nest and poured half of the bottle of poison on it. With any luck, the potion would kill off all of the vermin within the next few days.

Turning back to Brynjolf, Arsha saw that the other man was covered in scratches, and she would be surprised if she was any better. With a small frown at the pain that she was just beginning to feel, Arsha opened her hands and soon the gentle light of her healing spell filled the room as she healed first Brynjolf and then herself.

“Thank you, lass. I can’t believe that Mallus “forgot” to mention that there was a mad wizard down here,” Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, let's finish the rest of this job, I don’t want to spend anymore time here than we have to.” Arsha nodded in agreement and the two made their way to the boiler room where the mead was that needed to be poisoned.

A few minutes later, Arsha and Brynjolf were back inside of Honningbrew proper, watching as Commander Caius sampled the mead that they had added the skeever poison to. Arsha watched in amusement as the commander’s face went from confused, to disgusted, to furious in a matter of seconds. Sabjorn’s pleading was useless, and the commander hauled him off to Dragonsreach Dungeons, leaving Mallus in charge.

Mallus thanked them both before giving Arsha the key to Sabjorn’s personal office that should hold the documents that they needed to find out how Sabjorn had gotten Honningbrew up and running so quickly. After rifling through his personal items and taking a Honningbrew Decanter that Arsha thought Delvin might like, she found a letter. It wasn’t signed, except for that same symbol that was on the Goldenglow bill of sale. Arsha exchanged a confused look with Brynjolf, but the second in command only shrugged. “We need to get that to Mercer. He’ll want to know about it. And you need to tell Maven that the job went well.”

“Agreed,” Arsha wondered what this could mean for the guild. Who was this mysterious person who seemed determined to ruin the guild’s relationship with Maven Blackbriar? Arsha had no clue.

Soon, Arsha and Brynjolf were back on their horses, on the road back to Riften. They had decided that they shouldn’t stay any longer in Whiterun, Mercer needed this information as soon as possible. That meant that there would be no long stops on the way back, but Arsha didn’t mind. Even though she had only been there for a short amount of time, the guild felt like home, and she was eager to get back.

After a few hours on the road, Arsah broke the silence. “You’re strangely quiet,” she noted. “What’s on you mind, Bryn?”

For awhile, Brynjolf didn’t respond, seemingly lost in his own world. Eventually, he snapped out of it and said, “Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, just thinking about that insane mage we met,” Brynjolf’s tone was light, but Arsha could sense a heavy weight behind the words.

“Are you alright? I didn’t stop healing you too soon, did I?” Arsha asked, concerned. She was moved to slow her horse, but Brynjolf shook his head and waved her concern off.

“No, lass, your healing was just fine. Destruction magic brings back painful memories is all. There’s no need for you to worry about it.” Arsha thought about asking about what had happened in Brynjolf’s past, but then she saw the warning look in his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about his past, and she respected that, after all, she was the same way.

The rest of the ride back to Riften was quiet. Arsha found, however, that it was a comfortable kind of quiet. They stopped a few times to eat, and the conversation, little though there was, was easy. Arsha wondered if this was what it felt like to have friends, or at the very least, people that you shared a bond of fellowship with. It had been a long time since she had experienced that. Too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like that chapter? Arsha is beginning to feel like she belongs, yay! I definitely don't have plans to change that...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha begins to understand that the Guild really is one big family.

When Arsha showed Mercer what they had found, he took one glance at the paper and then slammed it down on the desk in anger. “Get out of my sight. I need to focus,” he demanded, not even bothering looking back up at her. Arsha rolled her eyes before walking away from his desk and back toward the Ragged Flagon.

The Flagon was loud like it always seemed to be, but that didn’t bother her. It was a comfortable atmosphere. Brynjolf was sitting at the bar next to Vex where the two of them seemed to be in a deep discussion about who the mysterious person involved in both Goldenglow and Honningbrew could be. Arsha decided to leave them to it. This was a matter for the more experienced members of the Guild. And so she took a seat across from Delvin, who was watching Brynjolf and Vex talk from where he sat at his usual table, although his eyes seemed to be following the white-haired thief’s movements in particular.

“Are you busy, Delvin?” she asked the Breton, a slight smile on her lips that no one could see.

“No! Not at all!” Delvin declared, ripping his eyes away from Vex. “What do ya need?”

“I was wondering if you had any jobs for me, specifically fishing jobs.”

Delvin’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Didn’t ya just come back from a job in Whiterun a few hours ago?”

“Yes, that’s why I’d like some jobs in Riften if you don’t mind,” Arsha replied, laughter in her voice. “I’d rather not ride off to another city tonight.”

“Sure thing, just don’t forget to sleep sometime. I have two fishing jobs here and one numbers job, if you’re interested.”

Arsha cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment before saying, “I’ll take all three.” Delvin nodded and then explained the details of the jobs. Before long, Arsha found herself back in the crisp air of Riften. The sun was beginning to set, and the shadows cast by the buildings were long, perfect for sneaking along.

Stepping into these shadows, Arsha made her way to the marketplace, which was closing down. Her eyes caught sight of both of her marks. One was heading to the Bee and Barb, so Arsha left him alone. He would likely be there for a while, if Delvin’s information about the man was correct. Her other mark seemed to be heading towards their house, so Arsha followed them.

The shadows were growing longer as the sun sank even lower. Arsha closed in on her mark, who was now in the shadow cast by their home. After checking briefly to see if anyone could see her, Arsha snuck up behind the mark, whose hand was now on their door. In an instant, she slipped a hand into the mark's pocket, found the item Delvin wanted and relieved the target of that object.

Then she made her way to the Bee and Barb. She snuck in, careful to remain hidden from the Argonians that ran the inn. As luck would have it, her mark was sitting near the door on one of the benches, and he was looking away from her, focused on what was happening near the bar. Arsha swiftly relieved the man of his flawless emerald and left the inn.

Arsha grinned to herself. Stealing, specifically pickpocketing, was just so satisfying. She followed the shadows until she reached the Pawned Prawn which was the target of her numbers job. By now, the sun had fully set and the darkness was complete. She carefully picked the lock on the door and slipped inside the shop.

She was only inside for a few moments. Bersi and his wife were out cold, so they didn’t notice as she carefully edited their ledger to disguise the lack of income from a recent shipment that one of the members had waylaid. Then she was out of the shop and into the night again.

As she made her way back to the Guild, Arsha considered staying out in the night and having some alone time. That was what she was used to after all. This thing she was doing now, where she cared about the people around her and trusted people, this was new. And slightly frightening.

Arsha pushed the button to enter the Cistern anyway.

The Cistern was loud with the chatter of the Guild members. Arsha chuckled to herself at how nocturnal they all were. Normal people would be winding down with a nice glass of mead or a good book. Not these people. There was laughter flowing around the room as members challenged each other to contests and told stories. Even more, laughter could be heard faintly through the door that led to the Flagon.

As she was surveying the Guild from the bottom of the ladder, Arsha’s stomach growled. Deciding that food would be nice, she made her way to the Flagon. She hoped Vekel had some of that potato soup that he had made the other day.

The aroma that wafted towards Arsha when she stepped into the Ragged Flagon wasn’t the soup that she had hoped for, but it smelled divine either way. Arsha decided that the smell was good enough for her to stop by the counter first instead of going straight to Delvin to collect her payment.

“Vekel, I don’t know what you’re cooking, but I’d like a bowl of it,” Arsha declared as she took a seat at the surprisingly empty counter. Everyone seemed to be sitting at the tables or on the platform in the middle of the room.

Vekel laughed. “That would be my famous beef stew. I’d be happy to get you a bowl. Would you like some mead to go with it?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Before too much time had passed, Arsha had a steaming bowl of stew and a cold bottle of mead sitting in front of her. She quickly cast her illusion spell to hide her face and then took off her mask and pulled down her hood. She placed the mask carefully on the counter before she began to eat.

She was about halfway through the amazing food when she heard the scratching of bar stool legs across the hard ground. Looking over, Arsha saw none other than the former bandit, Thrynn. Her hand immediately shot out to grab her mask, but the man put his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

“I’m not here to steal it. I tried that once, and I’ve decided that I like my head attached to the rest of me,” Thrynn’s voice had an apologetic tone to it, and Arsha decided to accept the apology as it was. If she was going to truly start a new life for herself here, she would have to learn to get along with people.

“A word of advice, never bother me when I’m sleeping. As you’ve seen, I don’t react well to being woken up. I should’ve known that something like that would happen though. It wasn’t like anyone in this place was sober that night,” Arsha replied with a small chuckle. All at once, the tension between the two of them was gone.

“Did you need anything, Thrynn?” Arsha asked the ex-bandit.

“No, not really.” The thief shrugged. “I just wanted to get to know you a little more. Delvin says that you’ve completed more jobs in the short time you’ve been around than Vipir has all year.”

Arsha let out a laugh at that. “Well, as Brynjolf says, larceney’s in my blood. Someone walks by, and I can’t help but lighten their pockets,” she said, spreading her hands with a shrug. Thrynn chuckled and the two of them spent the next hour or so swapping stories of different jobs they had pulled. As they spoke, Arsha realized just how much of a family the Guild really was. Sometimes you fought each other, or got into arguments, or borrowed things without asking and with no intention of returning, but you got over it. You have each other’s backs no matter what because that’s what family does. With a start, Arsha realized that she was part of that family.

Eventually, Thrynn excused himself and Arsha stood from the bar. She handed Vekel the money for the food, as well as a hefty tip, and then took a seat across from Delvin. “How’d the jobs go?” The master thief asked after Arsha had made herself comfortable.

“Well. Here are the flawless emerald and the flawless sapphire. The Pawned Prawn’s ledgers are fixed as well,” Arsha replied, handing Delvin the items.

He regarded the gems for a moment before tucking them into one of the many pockets of his armor. “I’m glad ya joined up. I can feel it on the air, our luck is gonna start changin’ soon.” Arsha let out a quiet chuckle as she accepted the coin that the man handed her.

Arsha stood from the chair and headed for the door that led to the Cistern. She could tell that the noise in there had quieted down, and she had decided to head to sleep. She had almost reached the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She tensed up and spun around, but relaxed again when she saw who it was. “Brynjolf. You should know better than to startle me.”

Brynjolf let out a chuckle. “My bad, lass. I just wanted to catch you before you turned in for the night.”

“Well, you caught me. What do you need?” Arsha asked, and she surprised herself with her own sincerity. There had been a time, not all that long ago, when she wouldn’t have offered her aid to anyone. Back then, she had only cared for one person; herself.

“Let me buy you a drink first. I just got back from talking with Mercer—nothing to do with you, lass, don’t worry—and I need a drink,” the red-haired thief declared, pulling down his hood to rub his temples. Arsha nodded understandingly and gestured for the man to lead the way back to Vekel’s bar.

Once there, Brynjolf ordered them both meads, and Arsha took off her hood and mask after casting her illusion spell first. Vekel brought the drinks and the two of them sipped at the meads for a few moments before Brynjolf spoke.

“I wanted to thank you again for healing me back at Honningbrew. I hate destruction magic,” the man said, running one hand through his flaming hair absentmindedly.

Arsha smiled softly at the words. Brynjolf sounded so grateful. Arsha was happy to be able to do such a small thing for him. He had led her to a new life, so it was the least she could do. When she told him as much he laughed before asking,

“Does that mean you’ll be staying with the Guild for a while, lass?”

Arsha nodded. “Yes, I think I’ve found a place to settle into a normal routine. Well, as normal as a thief’s routine can be.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Brynjolf declared, a warm smile on his lips. “I take it the Guild is starting to feel like a real family now, isn’t it?”

Arsha raised an eyebrow and looked over at Brynjolf, surprised that he could tell exactly how she was feeling, despite her mask hiding her expressions. “Yes it is,” she admitted. “A large, dysfunctional family that fights as often as not, but a family nonetheless. Even Thrynn is starting to feel like an irksome younger brother.”

The last sentence made Brynjolf let out a deep laugh, and it was a sound that Arsha loved. It was easy to see how this man was the one that kept the Guild’s spirits up, even in times as gloomy as these. “That’s how it goes around here. We’ve got each other’s backs when it comes down to it though. One time, I was out on a job and Rune-” Brynjolf spent the next half hour or so recounting a time when Rune had rescued him from a tight spot when he was out on a job, even though they had gotten in a nasty fight over who had eaten the last of the sweet rolls the day before. “It was only a month later that Delvin admitted he had been the one to finish the sweet rolls off. You should have seen the look on Rune’s face!” Brynjolf said, a smile on his lips as he told the story.

Brynjolf was about half-way through a second story, when Arsha let out a soft yawn. Brynjolf stopped speaking immediately and turned towards her, a mock-hurt look on his face. “Am I that boring, lass?” he asked, pretending to sound wounded.

Arsha rolled her golden eyes. “Yes,” she said in a dry tone. Brynjolf clutched at his heart dramatically, and Arsha laughed in spite of herself. “Relax, Brynjolf, I’m just tired.”

Brynjolf’s face immediately lost the hurt expression and was instead replaced with one of understanding. “Go on and head to bed, lass, you’ve had a long day. Just do me a favor and don’t try to kill anyone who wakes you up in the middle of the night.”

“No promises!” Arsha replied as she stood from her seat at the counter and headed to the door that led to the Cistern. This time, she managed to make it all the way there and step through the doorway without anyone stopping her. She made her way to her bed, growing more tired with every step. She hadn’t realized just how drained she was. It was a good kind of drained though. The kind that came from a long day and night spent in the company of people she liked, doing the things that she loved. Her head hit the pillow, and within moments, she was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was a little shorter than some of the others. Sorry about that.
> 
> Questions: Do you like it so far? Who is your Skyrim heartthrob? (You know you've got one!)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha gets a new job from Delvin.

The next two weeks passed in a comfortable blur. Arsha settled into life at the Guild and began to grow closer to all of its members, except for Mercer. The Guildmaster was as indifferent to her as ever, but Arsha found that she didn’t mind as much as she had used to. As long as Mercer wasn’t paying any attention to her, she could relax a little more.

And relax she did. She no longer slept outside of the Cistern anymore unless she was out on a particularly long job, and she had spent a fair amount of time with each of the Guild members. She and Niruin had spent an entire day trading archery tips and having friendly competitions. She had also completed more than her fair share of jobs, both in Riften and the rest of Skyrim. Enough, in fact, that Delvin had called her in for a special job. She was heading to speak to him now.

The Flagon was a little quieter now than it was usually, something Arsha noticed as she stepped into the tavern. It was about an hour past noon, so most of the Guild members were either out on jobs, or honing their skills in the training room, which left the Ragged Flagon feeling slightly empty. Vekel’s fire was still crackling merrily, though, so Arsha ordered something to eat as well as a drink before she went to talk to Delvin.

After Vekel had given Arsha her food, she walked over to where Delvin was sitting. She gestured at the spot across from him and asked, “May I have a seat, Del?”

Delvin looked up from his mug of mead before responding, “Sure thing. I’ll tell you about a job that’s come our way while ya eat.” Arsha nodded to let Delvin know that he had her attention before she started on the venison in front of her.

“You’ve been doin’ good lately, and you’ve gotten the Guild’s name out there again. That’s good, means people are startin’ to fear us again,” for a brief moment, Delvin got a faraway look in his eyes, and Arsha knew he was remembering the glory days of the Guild. “Anyway,” he shook his head and continued, “you’ve also caught the attention of some important people that would like to make use of our services. That’s where this special job comes in. I was contacted by a fellow named Endon, he’s a silversmith in Markarth. It seems he’s had something of value stolen from him, and he’d like us to steal it back.”

Arsha tilted her head sideways. It wasn’t often that a thief stole something only to give it back to the rightful owner.

“I know what you’re thinking, normally we’re the ones doing the taking, but this contract will help us secure a stable foothold in Markarth. It’ll bring us one step closer to restoring the Guild to its former glory,” Delvin stated, and Arsha could see a hint of longing in his eyes. Delvin clearly missed the old days, same as everyone else in the Guild who had been around then.

“Sounds like a good job, I’ll take it, as well as any other jobs you have in Markarth. I might as well get something else done if I’m going to be there anyway,” Arsha responded, already beginning to plan for the trip.

Delvin grinned. “I like the way you think. I have a fishing job in Markarth, and I think that Vex may have a nice little heist for you as well.”

“Thanks, Del,” Arsha said as she stood from her seat and took a piece of paper from Delvin that explained the details of the jobs. She was about to walk away when Delvin stopped her by adding,

“You might want to bring someone along, just in case. This is an important job, so ya shouldn’t take any chances.”

Arsha nodded, it made sense to bring someone else. Two sets of quick ears and eyes were better than one. “Do you think Brynjolf is free?” Arsha asked. He was the Guild member that Arsha was the most comfortable with, so she would prefer to bring him. She didn’t want to bother the second in command if he was doing something else, however.

Delvin shrugged. “Probably, but I dunno. Mercer may have him doing somethin’.”

Arsha nodded and thanked Delvin again before leaving the table and heading over to where Vex stood in her usual spot. After Arsha had gotten the heist job from Vex, she headed back into the Cistern in search of Brynjolf. If he was available, she wanted to leave today. She figured it would be bad for business if she kept an important client waiting any longer than she had to.

The Cistern was alive with noises, most of them coming from the training room. That seemed to be one of the places that Brynjolf spent the most time, so Arsha decided to check there first. As she walked in, she almost got hit by a stray dagger swipe. Thrynn and Rune were dueling.

“Whoah there!” Arsha exclaimed with a laugh as she ducked one of Rune’s daggers. “I wasn’t aware that coming in here was punishable by death.”

Rune immediately dropped his daggers and blushed. “Sorry about that, Arsha. Thrynn was helping me train.”

“It’s no problem, Rune. I have a suggestion though,” Arsha said and walked over to where Rune stood, across from Thrynn. “When Thrynn is in a stance like this one, it leaves his left side open for you to do something like this.” Arsha lunged forward and ducked beneath one of Thrynn’s outstretched arms to jab him in the side. The former bandit stumbled backward a bit. “See?”

Rune laughed and nodded. “Thanks, Arsha,” Arsha nodded and turned to leave the room, since Brynjolf wasn’t there when Rune called after her. “Did you need something?”

Arsha shook her head. “I was just seeing if Brynjolf was here. I have something I need to ask him.”

From behind Arsha, Thrynn spoke up. “Brynjolf is out on a job around town somewhere. He said he’d be back soon. I think he’s doing a numbers job at the Bee and Barb.”

“Thanks, Thrynn. I’ll wait for him outside.”

Arsha left the Cistern and headed to the Bee and Barb after grabbing the supplies she would need for the trip to Markarth. If Brynjolf decided that he wanted to go with her, they could leave right away.

Brynjolf felt someone watching him as he walked out of the Bee and Barb. He knew that no one had seen him when he messed with the ledgers at the inn, he had been practically invisible thanks to the heavy shadows. So why did he feel someone’s eyes boring into the back of his head? He sauntered around the inn, and the feeling followed him.

He leaned against one of the many beams that held up the houses of Riften, scanning the crowds for the one who was watching him. He thought he had found the person, one of the merchants in the market, but then they turned away the feeling, however, lingered. Brynjolf shook his head, frustrated. Then he heard a soft voice behind him, coming from the shadows.

“You alright, Brynjolf?”

Brynjolf nearly jumped out of his skin. Instead, he turned around, hoping he could keep the surprise off of his face. “I’m fine, lass. What are you doing out?”

Arsha stepped out of the shadows before saying, “I was looking for you, actually. I got a special job from Delvin in Markarth and he said I should bring someone along. Are you available?”

Brynjolf tilted his head slightly, thinking about it. He had just finished the job for Delvin, and Mercer refused to talk to him, so he wouldn’t be abandoning any of his duties as second-in-command. Besides, maybe he could learn more about the mysterious lass under that mask during the trip. “Aye. When do we leave, lass?”

“Now, if you’re up for it. I already packed for the trip,” Arsha replied, and Brynjolf noticed the pack she had over her shoulder.

Brynjolf chuckled a little at that sight. Arsha had obviously known that he would say yes. “Lead the way, lass,” he declared with a little bow. Arsha’s eyes sparkled, and Brynjolf had a feeling that she was wearing a smirk behind that mask she wore.

When they reached the stables just outside of the gates of Riften, Brynjolf immediately noticed the new, and for some reason only, horse. It looked familiar somehow. “Is that Maven’s horse, Frost?” he asked the lass, who was feeding the horse an apple.

“Yes. Maven’s son wanted me to sell it for him, but I told Maven about the deal and she said that I could keep Frost if I stopped the sale,” Arsha explained as she hoisted herself onto Frost’s bare back.

“No saddle, lass?” Brynjolf asked, raising an eyebrow. Arsha was full of surprises it seemed.

Arsha laughed. “It’s hard to have two saddles on a horse,” she gestured at the surrounding stalls, which were, as Brynjolf had noticed earlier, empty. “Maven moved the other horses out of the stables for now. She said something about ensuring that Frost had Hofgrir Horse-Crusher’s undivided attention. That means we have to share.” Arsha extended a gloved hand, and Brynjolf took it.

As Arsha urged Frost out of the stall and they began their journey down the road, Brynjolf decided to start up some conversation. “If you don’t mind me asking, lass, what brought you to Riften those weeks ago?” Brynjolf wasn’t sure if he would get an answer, as the lass seemed to be fairly protective of her past. Luckily, Arsha seemed willing to share.

“Honestly, I was bored.” In front of him, Arsha shrugged. “Being a hunter was nice; I got to connect to the wilds of Skyrim, and I had plenty of time to relax. Turns out, it was too much time, though. I’m a woman of action, so I came to Riften to get a start on a new life. I didn’t think I would get roped into a life of thievery, though,” Arsha explained, finishing with a laugh. Brynjolf decided that he really liked the sound of her laugh. A grin crossed his face as he came up with a plan for the next few days. He would figure out as much about the lass as he could, and he would make her laugh as often as possible. Pretty simple, as plans went, but he had a feeling it would turn out to be quite rewarding.

With that goal in mind, Brynjolf asked another question. “How long were you a hunter before you came to Riften?”

For a few moments, Arsha didn’t respond, and Brynjolf worried that he had somehow overstepped a boundary. He had thought that was a safe question. Eventually, Arsha said, “I understand that you want to know more about me Brynjolf-”

“Call me Bryn, most of the Guild does,” Brynjolf cut in.

“I know you want to know more about me, Bryn, but you have to understand that my past is my own, and there are some questions I won’t answer. However, I’ll answer this one.”

Brynjolf nodded, even though Arsha couldn’t see him. He understood that the lass wanted her privacy. There were a lot of people in the Guild that guarded their pasts closely. He was confident that he could learn Arsha’s eventually. After all, he did have a reputation.

“I was a hunter for about three years before I came to Riften…” Arsha went on to tell about her life as a hunter, and Brynjolf found himself fascinated. Even living a life as simple as she had, Arsha was able to capture him with her words. She painted a picture in his mind of green forests and the smell of slowly roasting venison. He could almost see the stars that she described lying under. Brynjolf could hear the content in the lass’s voice, and he knew that she had truly enjoyed her time as a hunter. She spoke the most about the peace that she had felt. That made Brynjolf wonder what she had done before she had lived as a hunter. He had a feeling that there had been very little peace, whatever it had been.

The ride seemed to pass swiftly as Brynjolf and Arsha continued to share different experiences of their lives. The sun began to set, and Brynjolf noticed that Frost was slowing. Arsha led the horse off of the road and into the forest. Before long, they reached a clearing and Arsha slid off of Frost’s back.

They set up camp there and Arsha cooked for the two of them. Brynjolf watched her practiced movements with admiration. It was obvious that she had lived in the wilds of Skyrim before, and now that Brynjolf knew more about her, he could appreciate the history that came with those well-learned movements.

They talked some more as they ate, and Brynjolf made Arsha laugh as often as he could. The sound of her laugh was melodic, somehow different from the laughter that Brynjolf usually heard around the Guild.

Before long, the sun had set and the moons were out. Brynjolf and Arsha pitched their tents; he felt like Arsha was showing off when she set hers up in a fourth of the time that it took him. Once his tent was finally up, Brynjolf crawled inside and was asleep as soon as his head hit his bedroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to start picking up the pace in this story soon. I hope you are all enjoying it so far!
> 
> Question: What is your favorite game from the Elder Scrolls series?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markarth job.
> 
>  
> 
> I still hate summaries.

Arsha was surprised. She and Brynjolf had been on the road to Markarth for over a day, and he still managed to make her laugh. She rarely enjoyed being around another person for an extended amount of time, especially when they were forced to spend so much time so close to each other, but she couldn’t help but laugh as Brynjolf recounted some of his different experiences at the Guild.

Of course, there were some things that Brynjolf said, or asked, that Arsha refused to answer. Some of the questions got too close to her past or delved too deep into memories that she wanted to remain buried. Despite that, the ride was pleasant.

They reached Markarth just as the sun was beginning to set in the city. Arsha asked Brynjolf to take care of arrangements for Frost while she went into the city to do the jobs for Delvin. Brynjolf nodded and took Frost’s reins. He led the horse towards one of the stone stalls leaving Arsha free to enter the city.

It had been a few years since Arsha had been in Markarth, but everything still looked the same, and the city’s residents were as grouchy as ever. They were also as clueless as ever. She had pickpocketed her marks with such an ease that it was almost laughable. The heist job at the Hag’s Cure had also been a breeze. Before long, Arsha had found herself at the SIlver-blood Inn sitting in front of the fire across from Brynjolf waiting for the silversmith, Endon, to show.

“It’s nice to be out of Riften, but I have to say, lass, I’ve never really liked Markarth.” Brynjolf’s voice was low, it wouldn’t do to bring unneeded attention to themselves, but it still had an undertone of humor in it.

Arsha looked around their dim surroundings before replying, “I feel the same way. I don’t like the atmosphere.” She paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It seems, shrouded, somehow. Like the truth has been buried. There are lies in every city, but when it’s enough to bother a thief, there’s something wrong.”

Brynjolf started to nod, but his eyes caught something behind her head. She turned and saw a man entering the inn. His eyes were darting around, and he looked agitated until he saw Arsha and Brynjolf. He made his way over to them swiftly, and Arsha could tell that this was the man they had come to this depressing city to find.

Brynjolf stood from his chair and shook hands with the man. “Endon the silversmith, I’m guessing?”

The man nodded and sat down in the only other empty chair. “Yes, I am Endon, and you two are the people that Delvin sent, yes?”

Arsha spoke up at that. “Yes, we are,” she affirmed. “He mentioned that you had a job for us to do that involved us retrieving something that was stolen from you.”

Endon nodded again. “That is correct. Bandits waylaid a caravan that was transporting goods for me. The only thing I care about is the special silver mold that I ordered. I need that mold back, which is why you two are here. The bandits must have brought it back to their hideout, a small cottage called Pinewatch. I believe it is near Falkreath. Retrieve it for me, and I can promise your Guild will have a firm position in Markarth.”

Arsha and Brynjolf shared a look before Arsha nodded and said, “You’ll have your merchandise back soon. The Guild appreciates your faith in us.”

She and Brynjolf left the inn and headed back out of the city. As they walked toward the stables, Brynjolf suggested something. “Why don’t we hire a carriage to Falkreath, lass? We can sleep on the way there and give Frost a chance to rest.”

“Good idea, as long as you’re paying,” Arsha replied as she waved to the carriage driver to get his attention.

Brynjolf chuckled and handed the driver a bag of septims and began to explain where they wanted to go. Arsha smirked to herself before climbing in the back and lying down on one of the benches, claiming it as hers. It wasn’t the most comfortable place she had ever slept, but it wasn’t too bad.

By the time Brynjolf had climbed in and the carriage had begun to move, Arsha was fading into sleep. She was just awake enough to hear Brynjolf laugh and whisper something about her ability to sleep anywhere. She thought about retorting, but her mind had already drifted into the fog of sleep. With an inward shrug, Arsha let herself fall asleep.

Brynjolf watched the lass sleep for a little while. He didn’t understand how she could fall asleep so quickly and in such an uncomfortable place; maybe her years as a hunter had something to do with that. Personally, he could never fall asleep that quickly unless he was either at the Guild or drunk. In fact, he had a feeling that he would be getting very little rest at all tonight.

With a sigh, he leaned his head against the wooden railing and tried to get his mind to slow down. Normally, his thoughts would be occupied by the Guild. What needed to be done, who would do it, how much money they had made recently, and so on. Tonight was different, though. Tonight his thoughts were on Arsha.

It was strange, how much the lass had come to be a part of his life. He couldn’t imagine the Guild without her witty remarks and skillful ways. Brynjolf didn’t know what exactly it was about the lass that made her so different from the others, but she was. She was different, and Brynjolf’s heart had noticed.

Brynjolf shook his head tiredly and stopped that train of thought. It was late, and he had to be mentally awake tomorrow. He closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep. Thankfully, it worked for once and Brynjolf felt himself be pulled into the realm of dreams.

When Arsha woke, it was morning and the carriage was slowing. “Glad you’re awake, lass,” Brynjolf’s voice sounded from across from her. “We’ve reached Falkreath.” The carriage came to a stop, and the two of them jumped out, Arsha now wide awake. There was a job to do.

She waited next to the road as Brynjolf paid the man extra to wait here for them until nightfall. That should give them plenty of time to get to Pinewatch, deal with any bandits, get the mold, and get back.

Brynjolf finished speaking to the driver and the two of them began their walk towards Pinewatch. Arsha had spent a lot of time in the forests of Falkreath when she had been living as a hunter, so she knew where the cottage was.

“Keep your weapons handy, Bryn. If bandits have set up shop in Pinewatch, they will likely be watching the road as well.”

“Aye, lass.”

Just as Arsha had predicted, as the two of them neared Pinewatch they came across a batch of bandits. There were only three of them, and they were down before they even had time to yell. Arsha had shot two of them through the throat, and Brynjolf had stabbed the last one from behind.

They were even warier as they snuck into Pinewatch. There was a man there, but he wasn’t dressed as a bandit. Arsha gestured for Brynjolf to wait in the shadows as she approached the man.

As soon as the man saw Arsha, he began to panic, shouting before Arsha even had a chance to speak. “I don’t know anything! Just leave me alone, woman!” the man yelled.

Arsah raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “I just want to know where the bandit hideout is. I know it’s here somewhere, so you might as well tell me where it is,” she told the man in a slow, but firm voice.

“I told you, I don’t know anything!” the man insisted, getting increasingly angry.

“Fine,” Arsha responded in a cool voice as she headed toward the stairs that led down. “I will find it myself.”

Arsha felt, more than heard, as the man crashed to the ground. Brynjolf stepped out of the shadows, wiping his dagger on the now dead man’s shirt. “He pulled a dagger and was going to jump you,” he said by way of explanation.

Arsha nodded. “Thank you, Bryn. Now let's find the entrance to this bandit hideout and get that mold.”

They located the hidden entrance easily. It wasn’t long before they were sneaking past the first room of bandits. Arsha didn’t even need to put an arrow to the string of her bow, because none of the bandits were very alert and the room was filled with shadow. The second room was much the same, although the third room was slightly more difficult. Arsha had to silence one bandit with an arrow through his skull before he could alert the others in the room.

In the shadows, Arsha could barely make out Brynjolf’s face as he raised an eyebrow. “Good shot, lass,” he whispered and Arsha couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of herself. It had been a good shot.

After about fifteen more minutes of sneaking past bandits, eliminating a few along the way, they came to a well-lit room full of bandits who seemed to be talking about their boss’s obsession with booby traps. It sounded as if the treasure room and the hallway leading to it were riddled with hidden pressure plates and trip wires.

“Good to know, eh lass?” Brynjolf noted, his head cocked as he listened in on the bandit’s conversations.

Arsha nodded. “Yes it is,” she replied as she drew her bow and carefully fitted an arrow to the string. “It’s too well lit for us to sneak past all of them. We’ll have to take them out.”

“Aye, lass. I’m ready when you are,” Brynjolf replied as he drew his glass daggers out of their sheaths.

Arsha let her first arrow fly, and it embedded itself into the eye socket of a khajiit bandit across the room. The sudden motion and startled cry caused the entire room to jump up. Arsha looked briefly to her right and saw that Brynjolf was sneaking around the edge of the room, sticking as close to the meager shadows as possible and eliminating any bandit that got to close.

Arsha turned her attention back to the bandits who were left and fired arrow after arrow into their midst. Each arrow flew true, and Arsha found herself smirking as the bandits fell to her and Brynjolf’s combined power. The Guild might prefer that its members kept their blades clean, but if Brynjolf was any example, they could more than hold their own in a fight.

It wasn’t long before all of the bandits were down, and Arsha and Brynjolf were sneaking into the room of the bandit chief. The woman was sleeping and Arsha watched as Brynjolf pickpocketed her and stole a key, careful not to wake the bandit chief.

They crept into the hallway that led to the treasure room, mindful of the many traps. Brynjolf opened the door on the other end, and Arsha yanked him back, saving his head from a painful collision with a swinging mace. Brynjolf managed a gasped out “Thanks,” that Arsha chuckled at before they continued into the treasure room. Arsha’s eyes immediately found the silver mold that they were looking for surrounded by other valuables.

A short hour or so later, they were in the back of the carriage again, plus a sack that Brynjolf now carried, which held the mold, as well as a few other things they had liberated from the bandits' treasure room.

Arsha decided to take a nap, and before she knew it, they were pulling into Markarth. Once the carriage came to a stop, Brynjolf helped her out and they headed into the city to give Endon his silver mold back.

The silversmith was overjoyed to have the mold. “Thank you. Your Guild has truly delivered. I promise that you will have little trouble finding friends in this city from now on,” Endon declared before heading back to his wife’s stall to tell her the good news.

Arsha turned to Brynjolf, “It’s only a couple hours past noon. I didn’t realize that we got here so much faster.”

Brynjolf smirked, “I told the driver I’d double the fare if he got us here in half the time.”

Arsha nodded and thought for a moment before asking, “Do you want to stay the night here in Markarth, or start back to Riften?”

“Honestly, lass, I don’t want to spend any more time in this city than I have to.”

Arsha agreed with that sentiment, so she led the way back out of the city to the stables to get Frost. The job had gone well, and Delvin should be more than happy to hear the news. With that thought in mind, she picked up the pace. It was time to head back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: Which Guild/organization in Skyrim is your favorite and why?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed. Kind of.

It had been a long hard day of riding and Arsha was more than ready to be done.

"Why don't we stop at this cave and take a break for the night?" Brynjolf suggested, seeming to sense Arsha's weariness. She nodded gratefully and steered Frost toward the cave's entrance before dismounting. She carefully tied the animal to a tree before following Brynjolf into the small cave.

A few minutes later, was made warm and cozy by Brynjolf who built a small fire and laid out a few animal skins for them to sleep on. Arsha grabbed some beef jerky from her pack and handed it to Bryn. They both sat down on the furs and ate in silence for a while until Brynjolf asked, "If I tell you a bit of my past will you tell me some of yours, lass? Aside from the questions you've already answered, of course."

Arsha didn't answer, but he continued anyway. "I grew up an orphan on the streets of Riften. My father died in some battle before I was born and my mother died of a sickness soon after. The soldiers put me in Honorhall, but I had run away at least twenty times before I turned eight. Eventually, they just gave up on me." Arsha watched as the thief grinned wryly before continuing,

"At first I begged on the streets. Occasionally a stranger or rich local would give me a septim or two, but not often. Over time, I realized that I had to take what I wanted. I started to pick pockets. I never took anything very valuable, just something that would pay for my next meal.

"I lived on the streets in shadows, at the temple, even slept in the graveyard a few times. My life changed one day when I tried to pick a man's pocket and failed. The man was dressed like a noble, but he didn't seem familiar. I assumed he was from out of town. Out of towners were always the easiest marks. I followed him all day until he came to the graveyard. As he knelt at the shrine of Talos I slipped my skinny little fingers into his pocket. Almost immediately he whipped around and caught my wrist before I could run."

Here Brynjolf paused to look at his companion. Arsha's eyes held no pity for him. "Come on, lass! How can you not feel sorry for the young rascal by now?" he asked in a disbelieving tone.

"I would feel bad for the young rascal, but, unfortunately, that young rascal is you, Brynjolf," Arsha responded with a laugh. "I know you too well to feel sorry."

"You wound me, lass, wound me!" he exclaimed, clutching dramatically at his chest. Arsha just laughed again and Brynjolf couldn't help but notice that her eyes shone a dazzling shade of golden when she did.

"Anyway," Brynjolf continued, "there I was with this man towering over me and keeping me from escaping. I knew I was dead, but then the man spoke and said, 'I could use someone like you in my family, boy,'"Brynjolf grinned, remembering the moment fondly, "To make a long story short the man was Gallus, the old Guildmaster, and he let me join the Thieves' Guild at age 14. I've been doing this a long time and I've only ever been caught once not counting the incident with Gallus." Brynjolf's eyes darkened at the memory of his only capture. Arsha considered asking him about it but thought better of it.

For a few minutes, Arsha was quiet. Then she sighed and sat up a little straighter on her bedroll, crossing her legs in front of her. "Since I now owe you for recounting your tale, I will tell you of a time when I got caught breaking into a palace," she said. "The night was c-"

"Wait, did you say a palace?"

"Yes, the Palace of Kings to be exact. Now don't interrupt and let me tell my story," Arsha said, waving away the question. "As I was saying, the night was cold and stormy as always in Windhelm. I was there to relive the Jarl of a certain flawless diamond he was said to have kept in his bedroom. I crept up the stairs until I reached his bedroom which was, to my dismay, locked with no less than a master lock. It took me ten picks and as many minutes to get the thing open." Arsha glared darkly before continuing, causing Brynjolf to chuckle to himself.

"Once I had entered the room my eyes went immediately to the strongbox on the Jarl's dresser. It was locked by yet another master lock which took me even more time to open than the first one. Every noise that came from the sleeping Jarl startled me. Finally, I was able to grab the diamond and slip it into my pocket. I was almost out of the keep when someone saw me.

"It was one of the Jarl's advisors. I tried to slip past him but he grabbed me by my arm and held me tight. 'You're not supposed to be in here,' he had said." Brynjolf let out a laugh at Arsha's imitation of the man before her glare silenced him once more. "I waited for him to call the guards, but he didn't. 'You're supposed to be getting me another drink!' he declared and pushed me down the corridor towards the kitchen. The man was obviously drunk and thought that I was one of the serving girls. I ran down the hall and hid in the kitchen for a while, then I snuck out of the Palace and into the frozen night with my prize still tucked safely in my pocket."

Brynjolf laughed. He and Arsha shared a few more tales of different thieving adventures they had had until Arsha fell asleep on his shoulder. Brynjolf was glad that the lass trusted him enough to feel comfortable sleeping near him. He glanced at her slumbering form. She still wore her mask and Brynjolf wanted nothing more than to tear it off. His hand reached for her face, but he stopped himself. Removing her mask would also remove her trust in him. It had taken too much work to build up her trust for Brynjolf to throw it all away because he was curious.

Eventually, Brynjolf drifted to sleep. In his dreams, he was at the Bee and Barb. He looked around and saw Arsha sitting on a stool at the counter. Brynjolf stood from his seat and moved towards her, and as he did, he heard soft humming. He got closer and heard Arsha begin to sing in that soft, flowing voice of hers. Brynjolf sat down next to her and when he did, she turned towards him. Her golden eyes were bright, and Brynjolf could tell that under that mask of hers, she was smiling. She continued to sing, and her hands reached up to her mask. With a start, Brynjolf realized she was going to take it off. Her gloved fingers slipped under the edge of her hood, and she was about to pull it down when Brynjolf woke.

Brynjolf sighed in disappointment and looked over at the slumbering form of Arsha. Once more he felt an urge to yank her mask off, but he willed his arms to remain at his sides. Sighing again, he went back to sleep and dreamt no more taunting dreams.

The next time Brynjolf woke up the sun was just beginning to rise. Arsha still slept soundly and looked so peaceful that he decided that he would let her sleep a little longer. Instead, he crept out of the small cave to a nearby river to take a bath.

The river was rushing along merrily calling to Brynjolf's still sore body. He gladly answered the call. The armor he wore was such a bother to get on and off that he just plunged into the river without removing more than his shirt. Wet leather was very uncomfortable to wear, but luckily for Brynjolf, his was enchanted to repel water.

The water was icy cold, but Brynjolf's Nordic blood didn't mind. His muscles relaxed as he floated in the water. How long he stayed in the river he didn't know, but when he left the frigid water the sun was fully out and shining. He grabbed his leather top and headed toward the cave to wake Arsha.

When he arrived at the cave Arsha was gone. For a moment Brynjolf's mind clouded with panic and worry, but then he heard humming coming from farther up the river. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Arsha's voice. He walked through the trees heading towards the sound. Eventually, he thought he glimpsed her kneeling at the river's edge through the branches of the surrounding trees. He continued to walk closer and was nearly close enough to see Arsha clearly when he stepped on a twig which snapped loudly.

Arsha whirled around and most of her form was hidden by a large oak, but Brynjolf could have sworn she was pulling at her armor for some reason. At once he realized it was her hood and mask she was hurriedly tugging on. Brynjolf strained his eyes, immediately feeling guilty for doing so, but all he saw was a glint of something yellow, maybe hair before the hood returned and hid the small amount of Arsha that he could see from behind the large oak.

Arsha let out a small yelp as Brynjolf gripped her shoulders from behind. He turned her around to face him and Arsha saw hurt in his beautiful emerald eyes.

"Will you ever learn to trust me, lass?" he asked softly, one hand hovering over the edge of her hood.

"It's not you I don't trust Brynjolf," Arsha whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the river behind her, "it's me." She turned away from him as images and memories from her past flashed in her mind. They were the memories of a terrible person, a person she couldn't trust herself not to become again.

Arsha could practically hear the frown in Brynjolf's voice as he asked, "What do you hide from, lass?"

"I hide from myself hoping that I will be forgotten if I never show my face," she replied bitterly. As if her terrible deeds could ever be erased from the minds of the people she had harmed.

"I could never forget you, lass, not when you've done so much for me," Brynjolf whispered so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

Surprised at his words, Arsha looked back to see Brynjolf turning away from her. His hair was dripping wet and he didn't have his shirt on, two facts that she had somehow missed earlier. His skin was pale like a typical Nord and his arms were crisscrossed with scars as was common in their particular line of work. Three scars on each of his arms stood out and she gasped as she recognized the diagonal lines. Her voice abandoned her as he turned his back to her displaying a patch of burned skin in the shape of a dragon with outstretched wings.

As soon as she found her voice, Arsha whispered, "Please forget me, Brynjolf." Her voice, she knew, was too quiet for him to hear. Then she ran as quickly as her feet would carry her, far far away from Brynjolf and his scars. As she ran waves of tears flowed silently down her cheeks.

Brynjolf was too stunned by Arsha's reaction to follow her immediately. When he finally reached the cave she wasn't there. Frost was still outside, but inside there was only a hastily scratched note laying on top of her bedroll. Brynjolf picked it up with a growing sense of confusion as he read the words,

Dear Brynjolf,

I'm sorry for running off like this. I suddenly remembered an urgent errand I have elsewhere that requires my immediate attention. I will meet you back at the Flagon in a week's time. The items for Vex and Delvin are in Frost's saddle bag. Forgive me.

Yours in haste, Arsha

Brynjolf knew that Arsha was lying, but he couldn't figure out what he had done to cause her to run from him. The only things he could think of were his scars, but scars were common in his line of work and no one knew where his had come from.

He sat down on Arsha's bedroll and sighed dejectedly. He thought about going after her, but that would be a waste of his time. If she needed to Arsha could cover her tracks so well that even Mercer would have a hard time finding her, so for Brynjolf, it would be near impossible.

Arsha had said that she would come back in a week's time, so all he could do was return to the Flagon and trust that the lass would return. But Talos, it was hard to trust the woman who didn't trust him enough to show her face and had just run off leaving him alone!

Arsha ran blindly through the woods thinking a single thought over and over. It was him! It was him. It was him. It was him... She ran and she ran and she ran not knowing or caring where she was going or why she was going there.

After what seemed like mere minutes but must have been hours night fell and yet Arsha still kept running. She ran until she saw walls rising in the distance. With a start, she realized that those were the walls of Whiterun. Had her feet really carried her all that way?

Suddenly, Arsha was exhausted. She walked up to the closed gates and gestured for the guards to open them. One of the guards opened his mouth to deny her entrance and she shot him a deadly glare. He closed his mouth with a snap and opened the gate.

Tiredly, Arsha stumbled through the gate and towards her house, Breezehome. She was halfway there when she realized that everyone in the city likely knew that it was the home of the infamous Dragonborn. Sighing, she walked past her house and towards the local inn.

At the inn, she handed the innkeeper some coins and went upstairs to sleep. As she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling a wave of guilt crashed down on her. She had just left Brynjolf all alone to explain to the Guild why she wasn't there. Not only that, she had left him to wonder why she had run off. Her note hadn't been truthful and she knew Brynjolf would see through her flimsy lies. She just hoped he didn't try to come after her. She had covered her tracks, but still... Oh well. What was done was done. With a sigh, she rolled over and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that happened. Who saw that coming? Let me know if you did!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha tries to deal with the knowledge that she now has. Something unexpected happens on her way back to Riften.

Arsha woke and made her way downstairs. The innkeeper looked up at her in surprise. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up,” she said with a slight chuckle.

“What time is it?” Arsha asked in alarm.

“It’s around midnight. You’ve been asleep for almost 24 hours.” The innkeeper replied.

‘Oh well.’ Arsha thought with a sigh. She worked better at night anyway. After a moment she said, “I’m looking for work. Do you have any bounties available?”

“Some of the Jarl’s men came by and dropped this off while you were sleeping. It’s a bounty on some bandits at Embershard Mine,” the woman replied, handing Arsha a bounty letter with the details.

“I’ll take it, thank you,” Arsha said as she took the bounty and headed for the door.

“You’re not leaving now are you?” the innkeeper asked, surprised.

“The bandits are most active at night. I can’t let them claim more victims just because I can’t bother to go out in the dark,” Arsha responded in what she hoped was a heroic tone. In truth she just needed something to do, and if that included decapitating bandits all the better.

Arsha reached the gates and strode through them purposefully. Instead of stopping her, the guards just moved out of the way. Once she was a good distance away from the city walls she summoned her undead horse, Arvak. Before long, she was riding up the path that led to the mine. She had cleared it out many years ago when she had still borne the title of Dragonborn with pride back when criminals were the only ones who had had reason to fear her name. Now, a new batch of bandits would get to feel her wrath.

She snuck up on the bandit who stood watch and quietly slit his throat. She was inside the mine before the man had a chance to fall. Silent as a shadow she snuck through the mine ending the lives of every bandit she met. In a flash, she was in the final chamber standing over the corpse of the bandit chief. There was an arrow in the orc’s skull and two stab marks in his back.

Arsha wiped the blood off of her blades and sighed with content as she surveyed the destruction she had caused. She always had been good at eliminating bandits quickly. Her pride soon dimmed as she remembered the problem that loomed over her. In two more days, she would have to leave and start making her way toward Riften. Brynjolf should arrive today, and if she went moderately fast she could arrive a day before her self-induced one-week deadline. That way she could get a good feel of the mood in the city before she returned to the Guild. Hopefully, Brynjolf would think of a better lie to tell than the one Arsha had dreamt up.

After she had returned to Whiterun, she received the bounty reward from the steward. The next two days passed in a blur. Between stocking up on potions, improving her weapons, and training at the Companions’ hall she kept quite busy.

When the sun finally dawned on the day she had to leave, it was raining. ‘Great.’ she thought bitterly to herself. ‘Just great.’ It was with an air of great reluctance that Arsha stepped through the gates of Whiterun and started her journey. She hoped to make it all the way to Ivarstead before midnight, but this rain might slow her down. With a sigh, she adjusted her quiver and began to walk. Once she was out of sight of all of the local farms she summoned Arvak and hopped in the saddle. Before too long, the rain cleared up and the sun shone through the clouds.

As she neared the Ritual stone an orc dressed in Whiterun guard’s armor called for her to stop. “Halt, in the name of the Jarl!” he said in a gruff, unpleasant tone. “All who pass this way are subject to a tax for the right of travel.”

“I was never made aware of this tax as I left the city, guardsman. I hope you are not attempting to con me. That would be a very bad idea.” Arsha replied fixing the “guard” with a piercing stare.

The phony guard only guffawed. “I ain’t afraid of you, lady. Now give me your coin!” he ordered, laying a hand on his giant ax menacingly.

‘Your loss.’ Arsha thought as she quickly slung out her bow and fit an arrow to the string. She took careful aim and planted the glass arrow in the orc’s left eye socket before the man had time to react. He fell with a startled roar. Out from behind a nearby rock jumped the now dead orc’s companions. Three of them fell quickly to her rapid fire of arrows and her horse, Arvak, took down the last one with a crash of his hoof against the bandit’s helm.

The rest of the way to Ivarstead was relatively uneventful. Arsha eliminated a few wolves and a bear or two, but other than that her ride went swiftly, and she arrived at the small village around eleven o’clock. At Vilemyr Inn she rented a room and swiftly fell asleep.

Her dreams that night made up for the peace she had felt during the day. Over and over those days that had happened so long ago replayed in her mind. Except instead of the young Brynjolf it was the present day one that Arsha tortured.

She summoned the icy whips which tore at the nord as he nimbly tried to dance toward her. Only after he was cut and bleeding in almost a dozen places did she call them off. Then she shouted.

Faaz. A shout she rarely used unless she was aiming to kill. Brynjolf withstood the shout in all its terrible power. Arsha bent to check his pulse and he looked up at her hatred and the hurt of betrayal blazing in his emerald eyes.

Arsha awoke sweating and shivering. Thoughts of turning back and fleeing ran circles around her mind. The image of Brynjolf’s eyes brimming with hatred for her stared at her every time she closed her eyes; if she returned, he could find out who she was eventually, and those hate-filled eyes could become a reality. Still, she got up, grabbed her weapons, and walked out the door anyway.

Dread filled her mind as she walked toward Riften. The air felt heavy and oppressive as if nature itself was condemning her. She wanted nothing more than to run far away from Riften and its resident thieves and yet she walked on because she knew she deserved any and every punishment Brynjolf and the others would give her should they discover her true identity.

On and on she walked without stopping, never slowing or speeding her pace. Dusk began to fall and Arsha knew that she should hurry and try to get to the city as soon as possible, but her feet refused to listen.

When she was about two hour’s walk from Riften her body suddenly grew weak. Pain shot through her stomach and with a start Arsha realized that she hadn’t eaten or drank anything since she had left Whiterun. She stumbled over to a nearby stream and knelt beside it to drink. As she leaned down to taste the water her stomach ached in pain again. Arsha pulled her traveling sack off her back, which was under both her quiver and bow so those came off too, and grabbed the canteen at her side which meant she had to take off her daggers as well.

She scooped some water into her flask and took a long drink, savoring the feel of the sweet coldness rushing down her aching throat. She turned to the side to grab an apple out of her sack, but the sack wasn’t there. And neither were her weapons.

Arsha leaped up, and the sound of a menacing laugh made her blood run cold. She turned to see a group of no less than fifteen armed bandits leering at her. She reached for her daggers, but, of course, they weren’t at her side. An evil-looking Altmer stepped from the crowd and dangled them tauntingly in front of her.

“What have we here, boys? A poor, defenseless woman?” the Altmer asked with a sneer. “Grab her and we’ll show her the hospitality of our home.”

Two big nords moved to grab her, but Arsha wasn’t about to go willingly. She ran towards the one on the left and kicked him hard in his knee. The giant man fell to his knees and Arsha jabbed three of her fingers into his throat and before kicking him in the head for good measure. The second one came at her with his greatsword out. She tripped him and he crashed into his friend and impaled himself. A third nord came running at her and she backed up into a tree. Her inner dragon which had slumber so long was awakening and when the bandit was just about to reach her, Arsha shouted.

“Faaz Aus Vaarn!” the shout ripped at her throat and hit the bandit in full force. The nord screamed as he fell, the sound one of pure agony. One glance told Arsha that he wouldn’t be rising again. Looking at the fallen man Arsha’s will to fight drained out of her. She slumped down the tree and didn’t resist as the Altmer bound her and hit her hard on the head. Before she blacked out she couldn’t help but think that she might finally be getting the justice she deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story about the shout that I used. A few years ago (when I was still writing this but didn't have the courage to post it) I read a story, can't remember the name, that used this exact shout. I thought it was hilarious because I had already decided that I was going to use those three words to make a shout, and somebody else thought it was a good idea too! So, just thought I'd say that I'm not stealing anyone's idea here and great minds think alike!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf comes to Arsha's rescue, despite the doubts that he has. He also shares a piece of his past with her, a piece that no one else knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This update is about twice as long as my usual chapters are, and I don't know if I should say, "You're welcome" or "I'm sorry.".

The rain was coming down hard on the branches of the tree where Brynjolf sat watching and waiting for Arsha to return. He had returned to Riften two days after Arsha had left him and had spun a tale for the rest of the guild about Arsha having to go partake in an honor ceremony for a dead distant relative. They seemed to have bought the story. He had spent the last four days as a bundle of nerves and mixed emotions. 

Now, he was sitting watch in a tree about forty-five minutes outside of Riften. He figured that if Arsha followed her typical pattern she would arrive today so that she could case the city and get a feel for things. Why he was sitting out in the rain waiting for her was a question he was still trying to figure out.

The lass had abandoned him in the wilderness with no explanation as to why. Obviously, he had done something, but he couldn’t figure out what. He figured it had something to do with his scars, but only people who had experienced the cruelty of the Dragonborn could know what they meant. Brynjolf gasped, the quiet sound drowned out by the rain. Could she… no... that was ridiculous… wasn’t it? 

Out of nowhere, a shrill scream of pain split the air, interrupting his thoughts. Before he knew it, Brynjolf found himself on the ground and running toward the sound. As suddenly as the cry had started, it stopped and the forest became eerily quiet. Swiftly Brynjolf ran and still, it took him twenty minutes to reach the spot where the scream had sounded from. The rain had stopped, allowing him to hear the stream that ran through the woods here, too loud in comparison to the deathly quiet of the air around him.

There was a bandit lying near a tree obviously dead, but bearing no marks as to how he died. Two more bandits lay dead, one impaled on his own sword and the other looked as if he had been choked. At the base of the tree, something black lay discarded. Brynjolf’s stomach clenched and turned as he recognized the black mask. It belonged to Arsha. He picked it up, his fingers running reverently over the dark cloth. A mix of emotions turned in his head, but one thought prevailed. He had to find Arsha, and if those bandits had hurt her… 

Following the drag marks on the ground, Brynjolf’s anger mounted. Arsha had obviously been dragged by her feet, leaving her uncovered head to bang against jagged rocks and branches. The tracks led to a small crack in the hills. A single bandit stood guard, and Brynjolf took care of him with a quick slice of his daggers. Glancing at the fallen corpse he wished he could have given the bandit an end more fitting to his deplorable crimes, but he had better things to do.

He quickly crept through the cave which proved to be quite large. Every bandit met his end, and Brynjolf made sure they saw his face as they died. Burning anger coursed through his bloodstream and his daggers were soaked with the blood of the unworthy bandits. 

As he crept into the main chamber, he heard the crack of a whip followed by a soft cry of pain. For a few seconds, Brynjolf saw nothing but red. He ran through the room no longer bothering to hide. He almost burst into the final room, but then he remembered the mask tucked carefully into his pocket. Arsha had tried to keep her identity secret for so long and she deserved to be the one to reveal it if she chose to, despite his current doubts. 

Another crack of the whip sounded but this time no noise followed. It took all of the willpower Brynjolf had not to run into that room and kill the offending bandit. Instead, he yelled loudly to draw the bandit out into the chamber where he stood. As he had expected, a tall High Elf appeared with a blood-stained whip in one hand and his other hand sparkling with magic. 

Brynjolf ran at the elf with both daggers slicing through the air. The elf cracked his whip and Brynjolf danced away nimbly. A ball of electricity struck him in the back, but he barely felt it in his anger. He leapt at the elf again and scored a hit on his arm. The Altmer growled in pain and lashed out with his whip again which struck Brynjolf’s uncovered hands. Pain shot through Brynjolf, and he quickly realized that the whip was poisoned. He could feel himself slowing down ever so slightly as he spun past the elf’s next attack. The longer this battle went on, the more likely it was that the Altmer would win. With a roar, Brynjolf spun past another of the elf’s attacks and rammed both of his daggers into the mage’s chest. The Altmer stumbled backward, eyes wide in horror and surprise before collapsing.

Brynjolf left the now dead elf and ran to the room where Arsha was being kept. Before he entered the room he tied a piece of the Altmer’s robe around his head so that his eyes were covered. Once it was secure and he could see nothing, he stepped carefully into the room.

“Arsha,” he called softly, concern filling his voice, “I need you to say something so that I can find you. I can’t see.” 

There was no response.

“Lass! Please say something!” he called again, a note of panic edging into his voice. This time he heard a small sigh from one side of the room. He moved toward the sound, feeling his way with his hands and feet. His foot hit something and Arsha let out a soft moan. Brynjolf dropped to his knees. 

“Lass, I need you to put on your mask so that I can see what I’m doing. Can you move?” he asked softly.

Faintly he heard her whisper, “Yes.” He gave her her mask and felt her move ever so slowly and put it on. After giving her plenty of time to make sure the mask was secure, Brynjolf reached up and took off his blindfold. Arsha lay before him weak and shivering. Her golden eyes were filled with pain but also hope. Brynjolf prayed that her hope wasn’t in vain. 

“That whip was poisoned, lass. Do you know where the antidote is?” he whispered to her. She looked so fragile as if speaking too loudly could cause her to break. 

“Table…” she coughed weakly before doubling over in pain.

Brynjolf slapped himself mentally. He hadn’t even bothered to look and there it was. A small red bottle of cure poison. Quickly, he uncorked it and handed it to her. He closed his eyes as she drank almost all of it and replaced her mask; it was obvious she didn’t have enough strength to cast that spell of hers right now.

After she finished, she handed him the nearly empty bottle. “You…too…Bryn,” she croaked, her normally melodic voice scratchy and hoarse. Brynjolf quickly downed the potion. Then, he leaned over and scooped Arsha into his arms, shocked at how light she was. He was about to leave when Arsha gestured weakly to the table. On it were her bow and quiver and her daggers. He scooped them up and stuck them onto his belt, slinging the bow over one shoulder. He jogged out the door, careful not to jostle Arsha too much. 

Once he had reached the stream, he set her down carefully. He dug through his pack and pulled out his flask of water and some bread, turning away as Arsha ate them. As he did, he remembered the conversation he had had with Arsha about that illusion spell she always cast, how it required very little of her own magicka because it could feed off of the armor. If she was too weak to cast it now, she was in terrible shape. He needed to get her to a safe place to rest and heal.

“Brynjolf, how…” she started to ask after she had finished eating but Brynjolf cut her off. 

“Shhhh, lass. The tale of how I heroically rescued you can wait. Right now you need to rest,” he replied softly. She nodded but gasped in pain as she did. “That blasted Altmer got you good, didn’t he?” Brynjolf’s stomach clenched as the pain in Arsha’s eyes confirmed his fears. “I’m going to take you back to Riften. Not to the Guild, but I know a place where you can rest in peace.” Arsha let out a small sigh of relief at his words, but other than that remained silent. 

Gently, Brynjolf knelt and scooped Arsha yet again into his arms. A small yelp of pain escaped her lips as he did so. Brynjolf was about to put her down again but she protested. “I’m fine,” she insisted, but her body betrayed her and she broke into a fit of coughing. The horrible sound grated at Brynjolf’s ears and pulled at his heartstrings, but there was nothing more he could do for her here. Sighing heavily, Brynjolf adjusted his grip on Arsha and began to head back toward Riften.

The walk back was unpleasant and went slowly with Brynjolf stopping to adjust his grip on Arsha every few minutes. Before too long Arsha fell asleep from exhaustion and blood loss, leaving Brynjolf alone with his thoughts, which swirled in turmoil around his mind. Arsha had abandoned him and run from him, and yet here Brynjolf was risking his neck to help her and even going out of his way to make sure that she could continue to keep her secrets from him.

As he walked, he couldn’t help but wonder if Arsha would have done the same for him if their positions were reversed. He had a strange feeling that she would have. Shaking his head to clear it of thought, Brynjolf continued to walk, mentally pushing away the pain in his arms and legs as he went. It was only a few hours before midnight when they finally arrived at their destination. 

Quietly, Brynjolf snuck around the edge of the city’s walls. He placed one foot on a wooden stair and shivered, his resolve wavering, but then Arsha gave a quiet moan in her sleep. The sound stoked the need that he already felt to protect the woman in his arms. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, and continued up the stairs, placing one foot in front of another and ignoring the growing dread in his stomach. He made it to the deck and gently laid Arsha across two chairs as he picked the lock of a door of a house he had sworn he would never enter again, Honeyside former home of the infamous Dragonborn. 

As he stepped through the doorway a wave of memories hit him so strongly that he almost dropped Arsha. The images of the Dragonborn’s twisted smile as she carved into his arms, the smell of his flesh burning under her touch, and the pain. The pain of a single word that still haunted his dreams. His scars burned with such intensity that he almost cried out. Instead, he stumbled over to the bed and laid Arsha upon it, sending up a cloud of dust.

Tiredly, he climbed onto the bed and lay beside her. He gently wrapped his arms around the lass’s waist and fell into a dreamless sleep so empty that only the most extremely emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted could achieve it. 

 

When Arsha awoke she was not in the forests of Riften nor was she in the dingy Ratways. She was in a place that felt familiar yet foreign at the same time, as if she had been there before, but not as herself. All of a sudden she recognized the dusty furnishings. She was in Honeyside! Panic began to swell in her throat until her gaze found Brynjolf. The scoundrel was sitting at her dining table drinking a flask of mead and grinning infuriatingly at her. 

“Finally awake are you, lass?” he asked in a mocking tone, “I was afraid I’d have to drag you to the cemetery soon. It took a dozen healing potions to bring your fever down and half as many to get the last of that poison out of your system.” “Seriously though,” his voice took on a softer and far more concerned pitch, “Are you going to be alright?” 

“Yes, Bryn thanks to you,” she replied to him, hoping that her voice could convey her gratitude. “I am wondering, though, why you brought us here of all places.” She tried to keep her tone light and nonchalant, but she heard a trace of fear in her words. Brynjolf obviously heard it too.

“I’m sorry, lass, but it was the only place I could think of where we could go without having a lot of questions asked. No one comes here,” he said, and Arsha could hear a hint of desperation in his words. And those green eyes were filled with so much guilt... Arsha rose from the bed and moved to console him but gasped in pain as she tried too. Brynjolf all but leapt to her side. 

“I thought you were healed!” he exclaimed placing a comforting hand on her side only to draw it away smeared with blood. “How are you bleeding? Your armor doesn't even have a scratch!” he demanded, panic lacing his voice.

“It is enchanted to always look untarnished even when damaged so that enemies cannot see my weakness,” Arsha explained through gritted teeth. The world was starting to spin around her, and she had to grab Brynjolf’s shoulder to steady herself. “I just keep messing up,” Brynjolf muttered, more to himself than to her. “First, I let you run off on your own, then I fail to see your injuries, and finally I bring you to the home of the Talos-forsaken Dragonborn! The volume of his voice rose as he spoke, as did his tone of self-loathing. The feeling, of course, was completely misplaced. This was all her fault; she had been the one to run off. 

“This whole mess is mine, Brynjolf, and I bear its punishment accordingly,” Arsha said honestly. “Now help me get this armor off.” Brynjolf looked at her, shock contorting his features. In a different situation, Arsha would have laughed at the expression. Instead, she explained saying, “I will cast a spell that will make me invisible as the armor is removed. I can’t heal very well with it on. The armor’s magic lessens the effect of all incoming magic, unfortunately, that includes healing magic.” 

He nodded and carefully knelt to undo her boots, but she grabbed his hand. “Brynjolf…” her voice was scared as it trailed away. Their gazes locked, and Brynjolf seemed to understand what she meant as he looked into her amber eyes.

“On my honor, lass, for whatever it’s worth, I swear that I will respect your privacy,” he said with a conviction that startled him in its honesty. The lass had changed him. He still couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. 

Gently and carefully, Brynjolf pulled off Arsha’s armor piece by piece. As he removed it, she turned invisible. When he pulled her glove off he did not see skin, only the floor below them as he looked right through her hand. 

Once she was completely invisible he heard her straighten and take a deep breath, then suddenly she began to glow. Her body pulsed with both red and white lines. They wove a complex design on her invisible skin and he stared amazed. 

“The red lines are wounds that I am currently healing. The white lines are scars, some more recent than others,” she explained in a soft whisper, her disembodied voice sounding vulnerable and weak.

“Did the Dragonborn give you many of those scars?” Brynjolf blurted out before he could stop himself. He waited for Arsha to tell him that her past pains where none of his business but she didn’t.

Instead, she sighed a regretful sound. “Yes,” she replied finally in a heavy tone. “I bear many marks from the Dragonborn although most of them are emotional.” She turned away from him and Brynjolf saw that more crisscrossing scars decorated her back. One pulsing light caught his gaze and he gasped as he recognized the image of a dragon with outstretched wings. 

After a long time, Arsha spoke again. “Do you see these marks of red, Brynjolf?” she asked quietly. He nodded, angry as he saw how numerous they were. “I deserve these marks.” Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest, but no sound would come out. How could anyone deserve to be whipped? The lass must be in a worse shape than he thought. “These injuries and most of the other scars I bear were given to me because of who I am. The Altmer who whipped me recognized my face and it caused him to be more violent than he would have been. Most would have done the same, even you.” With a sigh she put her armor back on, her magic had mostly healed her wounds. 

This time Brynjolf found his voice. “I don’t care who you were, lass. I would never purposefully harm you, Arsha. Doing so would kill me,” he said, his voice soft but powerful all the same. 

“Oh, Brynjolf.” Arsha sighed, and the way she said his name so wistfully gave him shivers. “I hide because I fear hurting you. If you hate me because I hide, then so be it. It is better than hurting you.” 

“Lass,” Brynjolf said his voice breaking as he struggled with conflicting emotions that surged within him, “I think I understand. I hide too. I hide behind sarcasm and laughter, but I still hide. I understand that you must do the same even if your reasons for doing so are misguided.” Without thinking he stepped forward and held her in a gentle, loving hug. “I will stand by you no matter what, lass,” he whispered in her ear knowing that it was the truth. 

“Thank you Brynjolf. Thank you for understanding,” Arsha said, and to Brynjolf’s surprise, he could hear her quietly crying. Brynjolf just held her close and let her cry, wishing for all the world that he could wipe those tears away. 

When Arsha’s crying subsided and her voice returned, Brynjolf was surprised to hear her say, “Please tell me the story of your scars, Bryn. I need to hear it.” Brynjolf looked at her with wide eyes. He caught her gaze, which turned out to be a mistake. Her golden eyes were pleading with him, and almost against his will he heard himself sigh and say,

“No one else knows where they came from. Maybe it’s time to tell someone.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “I had received a job that morning to sneak into Honeyside and steal a certain artifact. It was supposed to be an easy job. Gallus's sources, he was still the Guildmaster then, said that the Dragonborn was out of town and should be that way for the next few days. All I had to do was pick a few locks, grab an artifact, and get out. Easy, right?” It wasn’t hard to hear the bitterness in his own voice. Even after all these years, the memories were as fresh as if it had all happened the day before. 

“I picked the first lock easily. Then, I made my way downstairs passing by all of the riches on the first floor. I found the room of artifacts easily enough. There was a strongbox next to the display case I was supposed to open. I knew that picking the strongbox lock would take some time, but the Dragonborn wasn't supposed to be home any time soon. Besides, I was a young thief and the thought of passing up free riches was absurd. I spent about ten minutes opening the box and emptying it. 

“That was my undoing. If I hadn't messed with that box, I would have made it out in time. Instead, I had just kneeled down in front of the glass display case when I heard the soft pad of footsteps. I turned around to see her standing there. The Dragonborn.” Brynjolf felt Arsha tense in his arms at the mention of the Dragonborn. He held her closer as he continued his painful tale. 

“The light from a nearby candle illuminated her elven face. It might have been beautiful, but black war paint that she wore in the shape of a handprint ruined the image. I tried to lunge at her and attack her. I actually managed to cut her shoulder, but it did nothing to stop her. It only made her angry. 

"She shouted, used her Voice, and all of my energy disappeared. I collapsed to my knees, defenseless and unable to move. The Dragonborn towered over me and demanded that I return the things that I stole. I did the only thing I could. I glared at her with all of the hate I could summon.

“She said something about taking them back. That was when the torture started.” Brynjolf shuddered at the memory before going on to tell Arsha about each hellish day. She flinched when he told her about the lines on his arms. “Each day after the first she would carve a new line onto my arm. I don’t know why, but she never healed them the way she healed the other wounds she inflicted. Maybe they were some form of a sick tally system for how long I was there.” 

He continued to describe his imprisonment and torture, hate lacing his voice. “The waiting was the worst part of the entire thing. Just sitting there, waiting for her to come in and put me through even more unimaginable pain. I hated sitting there, not being able to do anything but feel my own pain and think about how much I hated the Dragonborn.” He could feel that hate still burning within him today, as fresh and strong as it had been fifteen years ago. 

He told Arsha about each day. About the sadistic laughter and evil torture. About the pain and the hatred. When he got to the final day though, he had to stop for a few moments to control himself. By the Divines, he hated the memory of that day! 

“When she walked in that day, I could tell that it was going to be bad. I could tell that she had something truly evil planned for me. She summoned these icy whips that floated in the air. Yet, they didn’t move after she had summoned them. I was suspicious of them, but I had to try to escape while I wasn’t being attacked. 

“I pulled out a small dagger I had hidden and jumped at her. Then the whips moved. They lashed at me and cut through my bare skin in a single strike. Within a minute I was bleeding from a dozen places. 

“Eventually, I couldn’t fight anymore. I stopped and so did the whips. I realized then that they would only attack me if I moved. I was in so much pain, but I knew that I couldn’t stay in this room one more minute. It would kill me. So, I decided to attack anyway. I decided to take my life into my own hands.” Brynjolf voice wavered, and he had to steady himself before continuing, 

“That decision almost killed me. I was bleeding from more places than I could count when the Dragonborn finally called off the whips. I fell to my knees and barely had the strength to raise my head and look at her when she knelt beside me. I did though. I met her eyes with mine and channeled all of the anger and defiance I could into them. The look I gave her clearly angered her.

“She stood abruptly before shouting. This shout wasn’t like the other, which only robbed me of my strength. This shout was pure pain in a single word. It combined the pain I had felt during every moment of my torture and then tripled it. I collapsed completely. I tried to scream, but even my vocal chords were in too much pain to function.” He had to stop and take a few deep breaths. He felt Arsha next to him tense and silent, listening to the painful story.

Eventually, he continued. “After minutes that seemed like hours, I was able to move somewhat. I was trying to raise myself to my knees when she shouted again. It was the shout that had sapped my strength. 

“I couldn’t do anything as she turned me on my stomach and exposed my back, which was still bleeding from the icy whipping I had received. Then, I smelled burning flesh. My flesh. She had drawn a dragon on my back. She had claimed me as hers.” Brynjolf could hear the cold anger in his voice. The hate that bubbled under the surface. 

“After she had finished, she flipped me back over and looked me in the eyes. I put as much anger as I could into my pain filled gaze. For some reason, she shook her head violently before pulling out her knife and giving me my final cut on my arm. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even feel it.

“Then she stood and told me to leave. I did. I left as quickly as I could and vowed to never, ever come back to that place.” He finished his tale with a hard voice, but his anger faded into something… else when he glanced at Arsha. She had been silent the entire time. 

Now Brynjolf heard her murmur, “Thank you, Brynjolf. Thank you.” Brynjolf shook his head, wondering why the lass had wanted to hear his story. He had to admit that telling someone about what had happened made the memory less painful. Not much less, but less.

Gently, he picked Arsha up and laid her on the bed. He murmured for her to sleep and Arsha nodded gratefully. In a few moments, she was asleep, leaving Brynjolf alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think about this latest plot development? How will this affect the way Arsha acts around Brynjolf, now that she's heard the story from his point of view? I'd love to hear from you! Also, a big thank you to everyone who has left comments/reviews so far! I really love seeing them!!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf and Arsha think about their new situation.

The next week was difficult for Arsha in many different ways. For one, her body wasn’t fully healed from her run-in with those bandits yet. Her magic was extremely effective, but there was only so much that she had been able to heal. Brynjolf had gotten the poison out of her system, but it had done some internal damage that her magic could not reach. That, coupled with the fact that using magic wore her out and slowed down her natural healing abilities, meant that she was still in a considerable amount of pain.

She also had trouble simply being in the Guild. After Brynjolf had finished telling her the story behind his scars, a story that cut more deeply to her heart now that she realized what she had done to him, Arsha had fallen asleep. When she had awoken again, Brynjolf was gone. He had left a note explaining that he had had to get back to the Guild and that she should rest up for another day before coming back herself. Arsha gladly took his advice, but when she had returned she found that it didn’t feel the same.

The Guild was no longer a safe place, completely removed from her old life as the Dragonborn. Now that she knew that Brynjolf was the one who had finally turned her from her ways, she couldn’t help but see little reminders of the monster that she had been. They were innocent things, the smell of one of Vekel’s stews, Thrynn telling tales of his time as a bandit, or when Delvin spoke of the one dragon he had seen years ago. But most of all, the reminders came from Brynjolf.

He would jump back slightly at something, and Arsha’s mind would immediately play a scene of young Brynjolf flinching away from her in fear. Whenever Brynjolf argued with Mercer, something that seemed to be happening more and more lately, Arsha would see the defiance shimmering in pain-filled emerald eyes. He would practice his swordplay, and all Arsha would be able to envision was him fighting the icy whips that she had summoned.

It hurt. Constant reminders surrounded her and mocked her feeble attempts to escape her old self. But she couldn’t leave. Even the thought of abandoning the Guild and having to start over again made her shudder in fear. She had already tried to escape before. It hadn’t worked. What if the next time was only worse? But that fear wasn’t the only reason she stayed. There was another reason, a living, breathing reason, Brynjolf. The very person who made being in the Guild so hard was also the one who made the pain worth enduring. His smiles and constant laughter warmed her heart and lessened the pain. She felt guilty for enjoying Brynjolf’s company when she had been the cause of so much of his sorrow, but those emerald eyes and that perfect accent called to her.

She tried to take as many jobs as she could that would keep her out of the Flagon and busy so that her mind wouldn’t have too much time to stop and think. For the past week, she hadn’t slept in the Cistern except once when she had finished a job earlier than she had expected too. But every time she returned to the Flagon to turn in her jobs and get new ones, Brynjolf seemed to be there.

He always smiled at her and invited her to have a drink or share a meal with him before heading back out. Arsha never seemed to be able to say no. She would sit and eat, but she tried to keep conversation to a minimum. She felt like if she spoke too much, she would blurt out her secret to Brynjolf. Like she would tell him who she was behind the mask. Like she would reveal herself as the monster of his past. And she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t face the horror, anger, and rejection that would come from the revelation. So she spoke only a few words and fled from the Flagon as soon as she had finished eating. But she was always drawn back.

Arsha wondered if the Divines were punishing her for her crimes. Perhaps this was their way of dealing her justice, offering her a life so perfect, only for her to find that she had already stained it long ago. Arsha knew she deserved the pain, but she couldn’t help the single tear she felt fall from her eye as she stepped back into the night of Riften and the slab slid closed behind her, sealing off the warmth and joy of the Cistern. She had been so close to finding a new home.

Brynjolf watched as the lass left the Flagon. She moved quickly, fast enough to be suspicious, but only to him. She had been acting off all week, and Brynjolf couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something wrong.

When the lass had asked him to tell her the story of his scars, he had been surprised, but he hadn’t thought much more beyond that. He knew that the story was somewhat gruesome, but he hadn’t even considered that it would affect her. But if she was a victim of the Dragonborn like he thought she might be, his story could have reawakened painful memories.

Brynjolf muttered a curse under his breath. All he had wanted to do was help the lass. He didn’t know why. Arsha had left him alone for no reason, but he could remember perfectly the rage he had felt when he had found her mask lying on the forest floor.

Seeing Arsha in pain hurt him. He had brought her into this life at the Guild, and he felt responsible for her. At least, that was what he told himself his feelings were. That’s what he tried to believe his feelings were. They couldn’t be anything else. That was insane. He had mentored half of the people who were in this Guild! He didn’t go around developing feelings for anyone; that would both get in the way of his work, and ruin his reputation as something of a player.

With a groan, Brynjolf stood from where he sat at Vekel’s counter and slowly stretched. If he stayed there any longer thinking about Arsha and his past, he would go mad. So instead, he paid Vekel and headed for the Cistern.

The Cistern wasn’t very full, but it buzzed with the low sounds of Guild members talking and training. As Brynjolf scanned the room, he noticed Mercer sitting at his desk, with stacks of papers surrounding him. The Guildmaster was most likely searching Guild records for anything that might hold a clue to the letter that Arsha had found in Honnigbrew. Brynjolf shook his head and silently wished Mercer good luck before he turned away and walked towards the training room.

The room was empty, except for Niruin, who was practicing his archery. When Niruin saw Brynjolf he looked uncertain, as if he didn’t know if he could stay or not. Brynjolf nodded and gave Niruin a small grin to let the elf know that he didn’t care if he stayed. Niruin went back to shooting the targets with a deadly accuracy, and Brynjolf sat in front of the chests.

He glanced around and eventually decided to work on all of the chests in order. He moved over until he was in front of the novice chest and then pulled out his picks and got to work. As he worked, he felt his stress ease somewhat and his mind clear. He was a thief, this was what he did and had done since he was a kid. This was who he was. Brynjolf let his thoughts fade away until there was nothing left except him, his picks, and the lock in front of him. A small grin appeared on his face as he worked.

It wasn’t long before he had opened all of the chests and taken their contents for himself. He sat on top of the master difficulty chest, a sense of accomplishment filling him. He was Brynjolf, master con-man, and an even better thief. Feeling slightly more relaxed now than he had been earlier, Brynjolf climbed off of the chest he was sitting on and made his way back out into the Cistern.

Arsha let out a deep sigh as she stared at the night sky. She had wandered around Riften after she had completed the job that Delvin had given her, and eventually found herself perched on top of one of the houses, gazing at the stars. After she had taken a few deep breaths and allowed herself to become entranced by the light, she felt her mind clear. A little bit of the pain and confusion from the last few days fell away, and she found that her breaths came somewhat easier.

Staring at the sky, which glittered and glinted like a sea of endless diamonds, Arsha felt small. But it wasn’t in a depressing way. Instead, it was an almost hopeful feeling that she had. She was only one woman, her influence could only spread so far, and the pain that she had caused could only go so deep. True, it was a larger impact than most had, but compared to the size of the universe, it was minuscule.

As that feeling came to her, the stars above seemed to shine a bit brighter, and she wondered if any of the gods were looking down on Tamriel. If they were, she wondered what they saw. A world full of small beings who impacted each other, but ultimately played only a small part in the tapestry of the universe?

She sat there on that room, balanced carefully between two old wooden beams, and simply looked at the stars. She let her mind drift wherever it wanted to go, and as it slowly returned to here and now, Arsha found herself at peace. A smile danced upon her hidden lips, and her eyes shone with a new determination.

She had made a decision. She felt the sharp pain all through her, constantly reminding her of who she was and what she had done. But she chose to stay. She had never intended to leave the Guild, but now she had made a decision to stay both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t going to let any more of herself be lost because of her mistakes that she had made in the past as the Dragonborn. There was a part of her that was already lost, and she knew that. She wasn’t the same lass that Brynjolf had spoken to those weeks ago in the market. There was a new kind of pain that lurked underneath the surface, and she would always carry it with her. But now there was a joy there too, and she was determined to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter felt a little bit too moody for my tastes, but I needed it to set the scene for, well, you'll see. Hope you enjoyed!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf tries to figure out what these feelings are and Arsha confronts Gulum-Ei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write for some reason, but I think it turned out pretty well in the end. Enjoy!

Brynjolf couldn’t help the grin that spread onto his face as Arsha walked into the Ragged Flagon, her feet making no sound as she stepped. It was strange how she affected him. All she had done was walk in the room, heck, she hadn’t even looked his way yet, and Brynjolf felt happier. Arsha, despite the dark leathers she wore and the way she could blend into a shadow that was barely there, brightened up any space she was in. Brynjolf could tell that the other Guild members liked her, and although she seemed to be slightly more withdrawn ever since her encounter with those bandits, she was always willing to talk. She had become a true member of their family.

A soft laugh drew Brynjolf from his thoughts, and he saw Arsha and Vex talking. Vex seemed to be motioning towards where Brynjolf sat at one of the tables on the suspended platform in the middle of the room. Arsha shook her head and laughed again, before handing Vex something, no doubt a valuable that she had stolen for the white-haired woman. Vex took the object and pocketed it and nodded towards where Brynjolf sat again. Brynjolf wondered what they were saying about him, but before he could get up to investigate, Arsha turned away from Vex and headed over to where Delvin sat, no doubt to turn in a job to the Breton as well.

Brynjolf watched the lass move, and he couldn’t help but become entranced by her graceful movements. Every step she took was light and had a certain spring to it as if at any second she could jump into the air and take flight. Jump into the air and take flight. What was he thinking? Brynjolf shook his head with a rueful grin. No woman had ever affected him like this. It almost made Brynjolf think he had lost his touch, but then he heard the lass give her melodic laugh again, and felt his heart lurch in his chest. Brynjolf groaned to himself and buried his head in his hands. What was wrong with him?

He was so caught up in his inner turmoil, that he didn’t even notice that Delvin had walked up next to him until the man put and hand on his shoulder. Brynjolf jerked up and turned towards the other thief, trying to school his expression into one of nonchalance. Judging by the chuckle Delvin gave, he failed.

“I was right. Bryn’s gone and fallen for another ‘lass’,” Delvin declared as he took a seat across from Brynjolf. He took a swig of his mug and gave a satisfied sigh before looking at Brynjolf again and raising an eyebrow.

Brynjolf honestly didn’t know how to respond. He had wined and dined plenty of lasses in his day, but none of the relationships had ever lasted very long and that hadn’t bothered him one bit, after all, there would always be another. Arsha was different though. Brynjolf didn’t know what exactly his feelings toward her were, but he knew that whatever they were, he wanted their friendship, or relationship if that’s what it was going to be, to last. And he had zero experience with that.

“I don’t know, Del. I just don’t know. She’s a wonderful addition to the family, but…” Brynjolf trailed off, not able to even explain his own thoughts.

“She’s sarcastic, fiery, secretive, a great thief, an even better shot, an’ she’s got a mind as sharp as her daggers,” Delvin sated, and all Brynjolf could do was nod. She was all of that and so much more, and yet, he knew next to nothing about her. How could he have such strong feelings for a woman whose face he had never seen?

A new voice sounded from behind Brynjolf. “I can’t believe you're being such an idiot, Brynjolf. The whole Guild is waiting for you to make a move on her. Rune and Thrynn even have a bet going on how you’ll ask,” as she spoke, Vex walked around to where she could look Brynjolf in the eyes, and Brynjolf couldn’t look away as she continued, “You won’t know until you try, Brynjolf. And I’d make your move fast before anyone else gets any ideas.”

The thought of someone else with his lass, holding her close, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and courting her almost made Brynjolf growl out loud. “Aye, I guess you’re right,” he admitted, causing Vex to raise an eyebrow and Delvin to chuckle knowingly.

“Which way did the lass go?” Brynjolf asked his two friends as he stood from the table, gathering his courage and his wits for what he was about to do.

“She said somethin’ about talking to Mercer about a lead on the Honningbrew business,” Delvin stated with a gesture at the hallway that led to the Cistern. Brynjolf nodded his thanks and headed for the door.

When Brynjolf stepped into the quiet Cistern, he immediately did a quick scan of the room. Mercer was at his desk, Thrynn seemed to be passed out on his bed, despite the fact that it was about one in the afternoon, Niruin was practicing his archery, but he didn’t see Arsha. His eyes swept the room again and he saw a figure standing at the bottom of the ladder that led out of the Cistern and into the graveyard of Riften.

Brynjolf quickly made his way over to the ladder, hoping that Arsha wouldn’t leave just yet. He managed to catch her eyes from across the room and she gave a small nod and leaned against the ladder, waiting for him.

“Heading somewhere, lass?” Brynjolf asked when he reached Arsha’s side.

Arsha nodded. “Mercer finally found a clue in that letter we found at Honningbrew. He says someone by the name of Gajul-Lei is mentioned. Apparently, that’s an alias used by an old Guild contact named-”

“Gulum-Ei. I should have figured that slimy lizard had his paws in this madness. He’s as greedy as they come, but he isn’t smart enough to do this on his own. Is Mercer sending you to Solitude to shake him down?” Brynjolf asked. It was typical Guild protocol when something like this happened. Arsha nodded again. “Just remember that we want the scaly liar alive, alright?”

Arsha rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to kill someone who could be of use to the Guild. Especially now that he owes us a debt and he’s in a position to make good on it.”

Brynjolf laughed, a full laugh of joy. This lass was as smart as a whip. “Aye, I should have known that you knew what you were doing. The Guild’s lucky to have you among our ranks, lass,” he told her, meaning every word. Arsha didn’t respond, but her eyes seemed to dance, and Brynjolf had a feeling that under that dark mask of hers, she was wearing a smile that could light up a room.

“I’ve got to head out, Bryn. I want to make it to Whiterun before tomorrow. I should be back in three or four days, depending on how cooperative Gulum-Ei is,” Arsha stated, a foot on the first rung of the ladder leading outside.

Brynjolf had planned to make his move today, but he didn’t want to delay Arsha any longer, plus, the longer he looked into those golden eyes, the more he forgot what he had planned to say. “Stay safe, lass.” Arsha nodded and then disappeared up the ladder. Brynjolf watched her go, and then turned away from the ladder, already planning how he would make his move once Arsah returned.

The inside of the East Empire Company warehouse was dark, damp, and silent other than the gentle lapping of the waves. Arsha barely noticed any of that though, as she crept through the shadows, eliminating bandits as she went. Her mind was still on a conversation she had with Vex earlier, right before she had taken this mission from Mercer.

“You too, huh?” Vex asked, and Arsha looked at the platinum-haired thief in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Brynjolf,” Vex said simply. “You like him, don’t you?” Arsha was stunned. Were her feelings for the red-haired thief that obvious? Did Brynjolf know? Vex answered that question when she continued by stating, “He’s completely oblivious.” The comment made Arsha laugh softly, releasing some of the nervous tension she had.

“Is it that obvious, Vex? I barely knew that I felt something for him until a few days ago,” Arsha hoped she hadn’t been looking like some kind of lovesick puppy or anything.

“Only to Tonilia and I, the boys can barely figure out their own feelings, much less a woman’s,” Vex replied with a snort. Arsha gave a relieved laugh and shook her head at the whole situation. “He feels the same way about you, so don’t be surprised if he makes a move soon.”

Arsha didn’t know how to respond to all of the information she had received, so she turned away from Vex and headed over to where Delvin sat, hoping to turn in her latest job and collect her payment.

WIth effort, Arsha pulled herself from the memory. It had been plaguing her for the past two days, and she wasn’t sure she could stop it if she tried. She wasn’t sure she wanted too either. Brynjolf felt the same. She hadn’t thought that the charming thief could fall for someone as guarded and mysterious as herself, but apparently, he did. Of course, Arsha didn’t want to get her hopes too high. It could be that Vex was merely misinterpreting something that Brynjolf had said or done. But if she wasn’t, and Brynjolf really did feel the same way about her that she did about him, Arsha wasn’t really sure what to think.

On the one hand, she really wanted for there to be something between her and Brynjolf. It had been so long since she was happy, and all Brynjolf had to do was enter the room for a smile to appear on her face. A life with him would be amazing. But on the other hand, she knew it could never work. Her past was too dark, too full of secrets and dangerous enemies for her to drag him into it. That and the fact that the instant she took off her mask, he would hate her.

Arsha sighed to herself as she fired two swift shots into the bandits that stood guard in front of Gulum-Ei. Time to get to work. Arsha approached the lizard, daggers drawn but held loosely at her sides. She didn’t want to kill the Argonian, but if he made a wrong move, she wouldn’t hesitate to plunge her daggers into his chest or slit his throat.

“I know you were the go-between for the sale of Goldenglow. I want to know who the buyer was, and neither of us is leaving this cave until you tell me. So, who bought Goldenglow Estate and cut out both Maven Blackbriar and the Guild?” Arsha asked, fixing Gulum-Ei with a piercing stare.

The Argonian shifted nervously and mumbled something about privacy policies. Arsha began to tap her daggers together impatiently, each hit causing sparks to dance back and forth along the enchanted blades. Gulum-Ei’s eyes widened as he watched the deadly light show for a few moments before he backed up a few steps, causing Arsha to advance after him, daggers now held in front of her in an offensive position.

Arsha could practically hear the slimy liar sweat as he stuttered, “No-no need to do anything drastic!”

“Just give me the name and location of the buyer, and you’ll walk away from this. Unlike those bandits you employed.”

His eyes widened even more and he threw up his scaly arms in surrender. “Fine, fine! Karliah, her name is Karliah!”

Arsha tilted her head. Gulum-Ei said the name as if it was supposed to mean something to her, to the Guild. Arsha thought, and vaguely recalled hearing the name whispered around the Flagon when morale was truly low, but she couldn’t remember who this ‘Karliah’ was. “Where is she?” Arsha asked the cowering Argonian.

“I don’t know, I swear! All she said was something about going to the place ‘where the end began’!” Gulum-Ei exclaimed, his arms still raised above his head. Arsha nodded and sheathed her daggers.

“I’m going to need the Goldenglow Bill of Sale as proof,” she stated calmly, and at this point, Gulum-Ei was too terrified to argue. He handed her the document, and she looked it over before tucking it into one of the many pockets on her armor. Then she turned away from the Argonian, her work done. She needed to get back to the Guild. There was something very wrong going on here, and this ‘Karliah’ was no doubt in the middle of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? They've both finally realized their feelings, so what next?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha returns with news.

Brynjolf trailed his booted feet absentmindedly through the water of the Cistern. The water splashed over the edge of his boot and dripped downward, but he didn’t even notice it. Three days, it had been three days, and Arsha still wasn’t back from the job that Mercer had sent her out on. Normally, Brynjolf wouldn’t be worried. It was typical for a job to take a while, especially when it was one as important as this and all the way on the other side of Skyrim. Really, he had no reason to be nervous, but he was.

“Bryn!” Brynjolf looked up from the water at the sound of his name. “By Talos, Bryn, I’ve called your name at least five times!”

Brynjolf stood and faced his old friend before apologizing. “Sorry, Del, guess my head’s in the clouds today. What do you need?”

Delvin looked at him for a moment, a strange look in his eyes. “Mercer said that ya had somethin’ for me.”

For a few moments, Brynjolf’s mind was blank. This had happened more and more recently; he had been too distracted. Thankfully, he remembered. “Oh, yes I do.” He dug around in one of the many pockets of his armor. “Here, a client slipped me this yesterday when I was meeting with them. Apparently, word on the street is that the Guild is getting back on its feet again.”

Delvin took the folded paper and scanned over it, nodding to himself every now and again as he read. “Arsha’s doing well. This is the second job I’ve gotten that mentions her specifically. ‘Thief as silent as the night, with golden eyes and a business-like attitude.’ That’s her alright.”

Brynjolf couldn’t help but smirk at the description. The lass was a natural when it came to thieving. He was more than glad that she had happened to walk into Riften that day. Of course, her larceny skills weren’t the only reason that he enjoyed her presence in the Guild. Not at all. He was quickly pulled from that train of thought when he heard the creak of the ladder that allowed entrance into the Cistern.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about it before he was walking over to the ladder where Arsha now stood. Her dark armor looked as it always did, but as Brynjolf had learned, that didn’t mean that it hadn’t taken on some wear.

“Lass, it’s good to see you’re back,” Brynjolf declared with a grin. Arsha nodded distractedly, and the grin fell from Brynjolf’s face. Something was wrong. “Are you okay, lass?” Brynjolf asked, worried that something had happened to her.

“I’m fine, Bryn. We can talk later, but right now I need to see Mercer,” Arsha’s voice sounded distracted and worried. Brynjolf scanned Arsha again, this time focusing on the small details. Her whole body seemed to be tense, her eyes were constantly moving as if she was expecting an attack. Whatever Gulum-Ei had told her, it had worried her.

“Alright, lass, let's go see Mercer and you can tell him whatever the lizard said that has you so worked up,” Brynjolf said, making sure that his tone was serious. He didn’t want Arsha to think that he was poking fun at her for being so jumpy. Arsha barely seemed to hear him though. The only response he got was a brisk nod before she strode away from him and towards the desk where Mercer stood, surveying plans for future heists. Brynjolf followed after the lass, feeling increasingly worried. He didn’t know what Gulum-Ei had told Arsha, but Brynjolf had a feeling that he wouldn’t like it.

“Mercer, we need to talk.” Arsha’s voice was sharp and commanding and Brynjolf couldn’t help but wince at the tone. No one dared to speak to Mercer like that; it was suicide. Thankfully, Mercer seemed to be too interested in the news that Arsha obviously had to bother with yelling at her.

Arsha, who now stood on the other side of the desk across from Mercer, slammed a piece of paper down and jabbed a finger at the writing. “This is the Bill of Sale for Goldenglow Estate.”

Mercer grabbed the paper off the desk and quickly scanned it, looking increasingly concerned as he read it. When he reached the bottom of the page, his face went white and he looked...scared. Brynjolf leaned in, trying to get a look at whatever it was that Mercer had seen. His eyes flitted over the paragraphs until they came to the bottom of the page, where the buyer had signed their name. “That can’t be possible!” he declared, looking at Mercer for confirmation that this was some kind of twisted joke.

“Karliah,” Mercer whispered the name as if it were the vilest curse in Tamriel.

“Gulum-Ei said that name as if I should know it,” Arsha stated. “Who is this woman, and why do you both look as if you’ve seen a ghost?”

Brynjolf took a deep breath and heard Mercer do the same; Karliah was a taboo subject around the Guild and for a good reason. That woman was a murderer, she had ripped Gallus from them after pretending to love him.

Mercer began to tell the story of how Karliah had betrayed the Guild and murdered Gallus in cold blood before vanishing. “We searched for months, but she had disappeared. There’s no way to know where she is now,” Brynjolf added, remembering those months of pointless searching when the Guild had first begun its fall from glory.

Arsha looked thoughtful as if she were trying to remember something. “Gulum-Ei said something about that. He said Karliah was, ‘where the end began’. Does that mean anything to you?” Brynjolf shook his head, but he could see Mercer tense up.

“Snowveil Sanctum,” Mercer hissed. “The place where that traitor killed my predecessor. That’s where she is now.” Brynjolf nodded to himself. That sounded like the kind of twisted thing the murderous elf would do, hide in the very place where she slaughtered Gallus.

“We need to find her and put an end to her schemes. And you are coming with me,” Mercer declared, pointing at Arsha. The lass nodded solemnly and turned away from the desk, heading off to pack for the journey.

“Wait,” Brynjolf called, causing Arsha to turn back toward him. “Karliah has waited this long, she can wait another day. You need to be in your best shape if you’re going to face her, lass. She’s dangerous.” Brynjolf didn’t want Arsha to go at all, he couldn’t stand the thought that she might not come back, but this way, she’d at least be rested.

Mercer nodded, agreeing with Brynjolf. “We leave at first light tomorrow, and we aren’t coming back until Karliah is dead.” Mercer’s voice was cold, and Brynjolf could hear the pain in it. This was personal.

Arsha nodded again and began to walk away, and Mercer turned back to the Bill of Sale for Goldenglow. Brynjolf took one more look at the beautifully signed signature at the bottom of the page before going after Arsha.

“Lass, hold on,” Brynjolf said, reaching out to grab Arsha’s wrist. The lass froze when Brynjolf touched her, looking uncertain about whether to stay or run. Brynjolf slowly let go, trusting that Arsha would stay. She didn’t move, so he continued saying, “I want to talk to you before you leave, and I’d rather do it somewhere where this lot can’t overhear us.”

Arsha cocked her head to the side, and Brynjolf noticed happily that there was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Alright, Bryn. Where did you have in mind?”

Brynjolf grinned at the lass as he replied, “Follow me.”

A few minutes later, Brynjolf and Arsha were sitting side by side on the rooftop of the Temple of Mara looking out over the streets of Riften as the sun slowly began to sink and the shadows grew longer and longer. For a few moments, they sat in silence, just watching the sun and enjoying the peaceful feeling that came with it.

Eventually, Brynjolf sighed and said, “Listen, lass---”

“Bryn, if this is about Karliah, don’t bother. I know she’s dangerous, but I promise you that I’ve dealt with worse,” Arsha interjected.

Brynjolf shook his head. “This isn’t about Karliah. I know you’ll take care of yourself, you always do.” In truth, Brynjolf wasn’t so certain, but he had a feeling that if he told Arsha about how worried he was, a whole lot of feelings would come out that he hadn’t had time to sort for himself yet, and he didn’t want that.

“Despite this business with Karliah and the setbacks that she’s caused, the Guild is starting to get back on its feet again, and that is mostly thanks to you. You have almost single-handedly pulled us out of the hole we were in, and I wanted to say thank you,” Brynjolf stated, smiling at Arsha in the fading light.

Arsha laughed, a clear, beautiful sound. “You dragged me all the way up here to say thank you?”

Brynjolf chuckled. “Aye, that I did, lass.”

There was a sparkle to Arsha’s eyes as she said, “You are very welcome, Brynjolf. In truth, all I’ve been doing is repaying the opportunity you gave me all those weeks ago. If not for you picking me up out of the marketplace that day, I’d most likely be roaming the wilds of Skyrim rights now, looking for some odd job to keep me going. You gave me a home and a family, Bryn, so thank you.”

Brynjolf smiled even wider as the lass spoke. How had he managed to find someone who fit so well in this life they led? “I suppose that recruiting you for that little marketplace job was pretty brilliant of me, wasn’t it?” Brynjolf said with his typical grin.

Arsha laughed again, and Brynjolf could have sworn that the sun, even though it was almost set by now, seemed to shine just a little brighter. The light caught the amber of Arsha’s eyes, and they sparkled brilliantly. Brynjolf lost himself in those beautiful orbs for a few moments, and he almost didn’t hear Arsha when she sighed softly before stating, “Once we leave Snowveil, something is going to happen. I don’t know what, but I can feel something on the horizon, Brynjolf, and it isn’t good.”

Had anyone other than Arsha said that Brynjolf would have said that they were as daft as Delvin was with his talk of curses, but it was Arsha, and the lass seemed to have a feel for this kind of thing. Plus, Brynjolf would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel something dark in the future. Although he wasn’t so certain that it would be after Arsha and Mercer had left Snowveil.

“Don’t worry about it, lass. Whatever happens, the whole Guild will be there,” Brynjolf assured her in a soft voice. Even if the whole Guild couldn’t be there for her, he would be.

Arsha nodded, and a silence fell over the two of them as they watched the sun finally sink completely beyond the horizon. The silence was a comfortable one though, and Brynjolf tried to etch the scene into his memory permanently. Arsha sat by his side, the sky darkening behind her until her dark leathers almost blended completely with the night, and her beautiful eyes shone.

After a few more moments, Arsha gave a sigh. “I need to get back to the Guild. If Mercer wants to leave at dawn, I need to pack and sleep.” Brynjolf nodded and stood, taking Arsha’s gloved hand in his own and helping her to her feet. They stood there, only a few inches apart for a few moments in which Brynjolf barely dared to breathe. Then, Arsha turned away and raced across the rooftop towards the graveyard entrance of the Cistern. Brynjolf let out a sigh, not sure what exactly he was feeling, but he knew that it was because of the lass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked that that chapter! I love Brynjolf POV's. To anyone who has commented so far, THANK YOU! And to all of my readers who are guests, I'd love it if you created a profile so that I could respond to them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowveil Sanctum.

A deep sigh escaped Arsha’s lips as she trudged through the deep snow. Snowveil Sanctum was in Winterhold which meant snow, and lots of it. A few miles back, the snow had gotten too deep for Arsha to ride Arvak through. Mercer had decided to push on with his horse, and Arsha silently pitied the poor creature. If it was still alive when Arsha reached the Sanctum, she would be very surprised. 

Ice stung Arsha’s eyes, and she found herself very grateful for her mask that covered all of her face. Maybe she would look for some goggles when she got back to the Guild. Arsha chuckled into the frigid air at the thought of wearing goggles. Her humor quickly died though. The darkness that she had felt on the horizon back in Riften was even closer now. Arsha couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen and soon.

Arsha walked onward for another half hour in the cold before she saw a dark shape through the snow. As she got closer, she realized that the dark shape was the top of a nordic barrow. That had to be Snowveil. Arsha picked up her pace now that the ruin was in view.

“You’re late,” was the only thing that Mercer Frey said when Arsha finally reached the Sanctum. Arsha decided not to reply, as she would most likely say something that she would regret. 

Mercer didn’t seem to care if she responded, as he turned away from her and towards the door that led inside the ruin. “Karliah is in there somewhere, so we need to be careful. You’re going to lead, and we are going to find that murderer and end her. Are we clear?” Arsha nodded shortly and moved to open the door, but Mercer stopped her. “The door is locked and I’m certain Karliah did away with the key. It should only take me a few seconds.”

Arsha rolled her eyes at the man’s cockiness as Mercer knelt in front of the door. True to his word, a few seconds later Mercer had the door unlocked. Arsha ignored the smirk on the Guildmaster’s face and pushed the door open. A blast of air rushed out of the tomb as she did so, smelling old and dead.

“The air smells like death. Be on your guard,” Mercer commanded. Arsha only nodded shortly and stepped into the darkness of the tomb. It was time to find Karliah and end this madness.

Arsha and Mercer snuck through the first few rooms carefully. As the went, the shadows and dead draugr changed in Arsha’s eyes, and she felt memories rushing to the forefront of her mind.

Arsha’s breath came in short gasps as she leaned against the cool stone of the walls of Bleak Falls Barrow. Somewhere in the gloom, something moved and Arsha’s hand shot straight to her bow, She had only arrived in Skyrim a few days ago, and things were already more dangerous than Alinor had been, which was saying something considering the reason she had had to leave. She was startled suddenly out of her thoughts when a deep growl split the heavy silence. Before she had time to think, Arsha had fired an arrow and the draugr had fallen, an iron arrow sticking out of it’s skull. At least she hadn’t left her archery skills behind when she had left her home. Arsha let out a deep sigh of relief and then pushed onward, she had a Dragonstone to find.

The memory faded, and Arsha blinked a few times to clear the last bits of fog on her brain. Mercer shot her a look, as if he knew that she hadn’t been paying attention to their surroundings for a few seconds. Arsha ignored the man and focused instead on not stepping on the numerous traps that were in their path. 

A few minutes later, they stepped into another room, but the draugr in the room weren’t dead the way the others had been. Somehow, Karliah had managed to sneak past them all without waking them. Grudgingly, Arsha admired the skill that the dark elf obviously had. Unfortunately, the draugrs were no longer sleeping, and Arsha had to quickly draw her bow.

She dropped the first two with arrows in their eyes. Mercer had also managed to kill one, although Arsha was too busy firing arrows to pay attention to his technique. Before too long, all of the draugr were down, and Mercer was sheathing his swords. Arsha decided to keep her bow out. She had a feeling that the draugr from now on were going to be a lot less dead than they had been earlier. 

Arsha stepped through the doorway of the room and into the hall. The sight was familiar; she had raided more than a few dungeons during her time as Skyrim’s savior. The thought brought another memory bubbling to the surface of her mind.

A soft rustle disturbed the silence that had reigned for the past few moments as Arsha walked down the dark halls of Ustengrav, searching for the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. The sound was familiar to Arsha by now having been in Skyrim for almost a month and explored a fair number of these Nordic ruins. The draugr didn’t stand a chance as it turned the corner, only to receive an arrow through it’s neck. Arsha grinned to herself, she was getting better at this.

The memory faded and Arsha pushed onward, not even bothering to look over at Mercer, who was undoubtedly wondering what was going on. Arsha couldn’t answer that, because she didn’t know herself. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been in a nordic ruin since her time as the Dragonborn, and this had never happened before. Arsha wondered if it had something to do with her feeling of dread for what was to come. 

She and Mercer traveled deeper into the tomb, and her memories became more and more frequent. Before long, Arsha was in two different worlds that overlapped each other. On the top, she and Mercer were creeping through Snowveil, eliminating draugrs left and right. Mercer said something, no doubt a snide remark, but Arsha didn’t hear it, because on the bottom layer, she was in Skuldafn, and she was fighting for her life.

Odahviing had flown her to Skuldafn, Alduin’s seat of power and the location of his portal to Sovngarde. At first, the journey through hadn’t been too difficult. There had been two dragons at the very beginning that she had had to kill, but she was a rather experienced dragonslayer by now. But then the draugr came. She had been in plenty of nordic ruins, and she knew how to take the undead down, but there were so many of them that every time she lined up a shot, another draugr would attack her. They began to overwhelm her and in a burst of desperate strength, she shouted a new word of power, Strun.

Arsha jolted back into reality. The memory of the shout roused the dragon souls within her, and she felt the urge to unleash her power at the draugr that dared to attack her. For a few moments, she had to wrestle with herself. One part of her yearned to be set free, to show everyone her true power, to make the fear that people once had for her return. The other part of her fought to maintain control. Thankfully, the latter side was stronger. Arsha managed to quell her dragon spirit, although the effort left her tired and weakened. 

Mercer didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t care. Arsha wasn’t at all surprised. The man only seemed to care for himself and his own reputation. For once though, Arsha was grateful for Mercer’s constant dismissal of her. She didn’t want Mercer to start asking questions; she couldn’t run the risk of him finding out who she really was. 

They pushed on through the ruin and eventually came to one of the nordic puzzle doors that seemed to be in almost every nordic tomb Arsha had encountered. Mercer murmured something about how Karliah had most likely disposed of the claw that went with the door. Arsha nodded to herself, without the key, these doors were as good as solid walls if you wanted to get through them. That didn’t stop Mercer. He walked over to the door and fiddled with something that Arsha couldn’t see and not two seconds later, the door was opening. Arsha raised an eyebrow. She was grudgingly impressed. Maybe one day she would be able to get Mercer to teach her that trick. As the door opened, another memory overwhelmed Arsha.

Arsha smiled grimly as she plunged her glass dagger into the chest of the dragon priest that she was grappling with at the entrance to what Arsha could only assume was the portal to Sovngarde. The priest shuddered and then crumbled to ashes, leaving behind only his mask and staff. Arsh tucked the mask away and then picked up the staff. It must be the key to the portal. With that thought in mind, Arsha raced up the floating steps of the portal, not daring to give herself time to think about what she was about to do. She plunged the staff into the place she had seen the dragon priest put it, and then the ground under her feet rumbled and the portal began to open.

Arsha violently shoved the memory from her mind, Karliah was beyond this door, she had to focus. As the puzzle door shuddered to a stop, now open, Arsha drew an arrow from her quiver and put it to the bowstring. She never got the chance to fire that arrow, though, because at that moment an arrow flew through the air and embedded itself in Arsha chest, near her heart. The instant it made contact, Arsha could tell that it was poisoned, her knees buckling beneath her as she fell to the ground. She heard as if from a distance her bow and the arrow she had drawn clatter to the ground beside her. 

Mercer began to speak to the dark figure that Arsha could barely make out through her blurred vision. “Did you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?" His voice was as contentious as ever, and he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Arsha was lying paralyzed at his feet.

 

"Give me a reason to try," Karliah’s voice sounded soft on the air, but Arsha could hear the hardness of a killer in it. After all, didn’t her own voice often sound the same?

 

"You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired."

"To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies." It was the first lesson Gallus taught us," Karliah replied, her voice angry.

 

"You always were a quick study."

 

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive.” What did Karliah mean by that? She killed the former Guild Master, hadn’t she?

"Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way.". Arsha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mercer killed Gallus?

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?" Was Karliah innocent? Arsha’s thought were becoming muddied, and she knew that she was close to blacking out.

 

“Enough of this mindless banter! Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!" Arsha dimly heard the sound of Mercer clanging his blade against the stone, taunting the woman.

“I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise you the next time we meet, it will be your undoing," Karliah stated before vanishing into the shadows. With effort, Arsha managed to turn her attention back to Mercer, who was now standing over her with an evil grin on his face. 

"How interesting,” Mercer’s tone was contemplative, as if he hadn’t expected any of this to happen. The look on his face told Arsha different; Mercer had never meant for her to leave this place alive.

“It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. I wonder how Brynjolf will react when I tell him that Karliah has killed his little ‘lass’.” Arsha screamed inwardly in rage at those words. How dare he! How dare he lie to Brynjolf, who looked to him as a mentor and a leader!

Mercer continued, that same smirk still on his lips, “But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you.” Mercer had used her to achieve his own ends. All along, Arsha had thought that she was helping the Guild and making a new home for herself, but that was a lie. Mercer had used her, and now that he was done with her, he would kill her. 

“Farewell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards." With those words, Mercer plunged his dwarven sword into Arsha’s stomach. Then he turned around and left her there to die, bleeding out on the cold stone floor. Arsha’s vision darkened even more, and her last thought before she blacked out from the pain and blood loss was of Brynjolf. She would never get to tell him how she felt. Then the darkness became complete, and all thought faded from Arsha’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mercer is evil, isn't he? Just leaving Arsha like that and lying to everyone for years. I hope you liked that chapter. Please leave me a comment if you did, and if you didn't I'd love to hear why! Thanks for reading!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf worries. A lot. Also, Karliah appears again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you lovely readers!

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of water falling into the Cistern was practically deafening to Brynjolf’s ears. He turned sharply on the heels of his leather boots and then began pacing again. Six days. It had been six days since Arsha left with Mercer to go to Snowveil Sanctum and they still weren’t back yet. They should have been back three days ago! Brynjolf ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. He had never been this worried about anyone before, not even Vex when she had been hurt on the Goldenglow job before Arsha had arrived. But this was different. Vex had been dealing with bloodthirsty mercenaries. Arsha and Mercer were dealing with someone much worse; Karliah.

A thousand curses ran through Brynjolf’s mind, and a few softly escaped his lips at the thought of her name. Karliah was the reason that things were so sour in the Guild. She was the reason that the Guild members had had to work constantly for the Guild to function even as a mere shadow of what it used to be. She was the reason that the man who had rescued Brynjolf from the streets, the man who had given him purpose, the man who had given him a home, was dead. Karliah had killed Gallus and almost killed Mercer. Now Mercer had gone after Karliah to settle the score, and he had dragged Arsha along with him.

It wasn’t that Brynjolf doubted the lass’s skills. Far from it. He had seen her fight, and to say that she was just good would be like saying that Windhelm in the winter was just cool, but this was Karliah that they were dealing with. And that was why Brynjolf had been pacing the Cistern for the past two days, glaring at anyone who dared suggest that he go out and do something to get his mind off of things. He wasn’t leaving until Mercer and Arsha returned and that was final. He had already yelled as much at more than one of the younger Guild members. By now, the only person who dared to approach him was Delvin.

Speaking of Delvin, the Breton was walking across the Cistern, obviously heading towards Brynjolf. Brynjolf halted his anxious pacing, and turned toward his friend, trying to conceal some of his nervousness. He failed.

“How long have you been pacing in that spot, Bryn? I think you’ve worn through the stone,” Delvin said with a friendly smile, but Brynjolf could see the worry in his eyes. It was a look that was mirrored in the gazes of every Guild member.

“You know exactly how long I’ve been here, Delvin!” Brynjolf snapped, his worry making him irritated.

Delvin nodded slowly and his grin fell from his face. “I know, Bryn. But it’s been two days. What is Arsha going to think when she comes back and finds you lookin’ all disheveled?”

“I doubt she'll care what I look like,” Brynjolf stated with a dismissive wave. Delvin gave him a knowing look, which Brynjolf ignored. “I already went out to look for them, and Vex dragged me back. I tried training, but the dummies only lasted two hours. This is the only thing I can do to keep me from going crazy, Del!” Brynjolf exclaimed, running his hands through his hair angrily.

Delvin took a few steps closer and put a comforting hand on Brynjolf’s shoulder. “I understand, mate. With Mercer gone, you're in charge, but you're too worried about Arsha to do anythin’.” Brynjolf nodded miserably. Guild protocol was that if the Guild Master was missing for more than 48 hours, the second in command was supposed to take charge and continue the Guild’s business. Brynjolf couldn't do that. People died or were captured in this business all too frequently, so all they could do was move on. But Brynjolf couldn't.

“I can't lose her, Del. I don't know why, but I feel like I can't go back to the way things were before she came. It feels empty,” Brynjolf admitted quietly.

Delvin opened his mouth to reply, but just then a sound came from the ladder that led into the graveyard above. A familiar figure was slowly making their way down the ladder.

Brynjolf looked at Delvin and then ran to the side of the Guildmaster.

“Mercer! What happened?” Delvin asked the man, who was leaning against the ladder, looking exhausted. Mercer opened his mouth to reply, but Brynjolf spoke first.

“Mercer, where's the lass? Where is Arsha?” Brynjolf spoke quietly, but each word was heavy with emotions that Brynjolf couldn't even begin to unravel.

For a few seconds, everything was still. Brynjolf held his breath and it felt like the world did the same. Then Mercer sighed and shook his head slowly. “I'm sorry Brynjolf. Karliah took us by surprise. Arsha never even saw the arrow coming. She's dead.”

Brynjolf’s world crashed around his ears as those words echoed in his mind. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead.

Arsha groaned softly, squinting her eyes against the harsh light of the sun. The last thing she could remember was Mercer standing over her and...stabbing her! Arsha’s hands flew to her abdomen where Mercer had stabbed her, but for some reason, it was bandaged, although when Arsha looked down, she could see the blood beginning to stain the white cloth red.

“Easy, easy. I did the best I could, but I’m no healer,” Arsha looked to her left and saw a woman in dark leathers crouching by her side. Arsha did a quick assessment of her situation. She was outside, not in the sanctum. That meant that this woman, who was no doubt Karliah, had carried her out. Her wounds were bandaged and her mask was still in place. Most importantly, she wasn’t dead.

Arsha sat up slowly, not wanting to aggravate her wound. “Thank you, Karliah. Although I must ask, why shoot me if all you were going to do is save me?” she asked the dark elf thief.

“Shooting you saved your life. That arrow was tipped with a poison that slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. I gave you a few health potions, and they began to close your wound. Unfortunately, once I gave you the antidote, your wound began to bleed again,” Karliah explained. As Arsha listened to the elf speak, she decided to trust the woman. Her voice had a tone of sincerity in it that Arsha believed.

“Then I thank you again. I don’t understand why you didn’t shoot Mercer instead, though.” If Arsha were in Karliah’s place, she would have shot Mercer without a second thought. She knew the truth now. Mercer was a traitor to the Guild and he had hidden it for years!

Karliah smiled grimly as she replied. “Believe me, I would have, but I never had a clear shot. The coward angled himself behind you. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way, and it saved your life.” Arsha nodded in understanding; of course, Mercer would have used her as a human shield. The coward.

Arsha took a deep breath and then concentrated her magicka into her hands where it pooled into a warm golden light. She held her glowing hands over the arrow wound near her heart and felt it close under the bandages. Then she did the same thing to the gash in her stomach. The cut closed, but Arsha could tell that no matter how much magicka she put into it there would always be a scar. Some things were like that, and in some strange way, it seemed fitting that this injury was one that would never fully heal.

Now that she was healed, Arsha stood and Karliah did the same. The two women looked each other in the eyes, amber and amethyst, and an understanding passed between them. “What do we need to do to bring Mercer down?” Arsha asked, and Karliah smiled grimly.

“I appreciate your trust in me,” Karliah stated before continuing on to her plan. “Choosing Snowveil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn’t simply for irony’s sake. I recovered a journal from Gallus’s remains,” Karliah’s voice wavered slightly at the word ‘remains’, and Arsha felt a pang of sympathy run through her. She could tell that Karliah had loved Gallus with all of her soul and still did. Mercer had taken that joy from her. Karliah shook her head quickly, no doubt to clear it of thoughts from the past, and continued. “I suspect that journal contains the information we need to prove that Mercer was the one behind Gallus’s murder.”

Arsha cocked her head slightly; there was more to the story. “I sense a ‘but’ in there,” she stated.

Karliah nodded. “Gallus wrote the journal in some language that I’ve never seen before.”

“So we need to figure out how to translate it.” Arsha admired the lengths that Gallus had gone through to keep whatever was in that journal secret. On the one hand, it seemed paranoid, but on the other, it was rather genius. There’s no harm in a fellow Guild member finding the journal if they can’t read what’s inside. After all, he had been surrounded by thieves, not scholars.

“Enthir…” Karliah said slowly, the spark of an idea coming to life in her eyes. “He was Gallus’s friend and contact in the College of Winterhold. Of course. He’s the only outsider that Gallus trusted with his Nightingale identity.”

“That word has come up more than once during all of this. What are Nightingales?” Arsha asked, curiosity coloring her voice. She had heard the name a few times around the Guild but only in passing.

“There were three of us, Gallus, Mercer, and I. We were a secret splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften,” Karliah replied. Then she hesitated as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to say more. Eventually, she shook her head. “I can’t tell you any more yet. You’ll have to trust me, please. Right now, I need you to go to the College of Winterhold and speak to Enthir. We need him to translate that journal if we want to have any chance of taking Mercer down.”

Arsha didn’t like how secretive Karliah was about the “Nightingales” but she knew that secrets were part of the life that Karliah had undoubtedly been leading, so she didn’t press the subject. This woman had saved her life; Arsha would trust her, for now. “Are you coming to Winterhold with me?” she asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

As expected, Karliah shook her head. “I’m afraid not. There are preparations to make and Gallus’s remains to lay to rest. I promise to join you there as soon as I can.”

Arsha could hear the pain in Karliah’s voice. “Take your time Karliah. I will take the journal to Enthir and get him to translate it,” she said and held out a gloved hand for Karliah to shake. Karliah shook it firmly. “We will take Mercer down, and he will face Guild justice, Karliah,” Arsha promised, her voice hard. Mercer was going to pay for what he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that chapter! I really enjoyed writing Brynjolf's part and getting to explore how he reacts to Arsha's absence. Send me a comment and let me know which part you liked better, Arsha's or Brynjolf's. 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who has left comments on this story so far! I love reading them! Also, thank you to everyone who has been reading this story so far (whether you have left a comment or not)! I really appreciate the support!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha returns to the Guild with Karliah and Mercer's treachery begins to be exposed even more.

“This may not go our way.” Karliah’s voice was soft as the two of them crept silently down the damp entrance to the Ragged Flagon. Arsha nodded in the dark, even though the action would be hidden by the gloom. Her thoughts turned to the past few days as she stepped around a puddle, the water mirroring her shadowy figure.

Arsha had barely had time to breathe these last few days. After she had spoken to Enthir at the College, she had been sent to collect a rubbing of some translation because the language that Gallus had written his journal in was the language of the Falmer. The Falmer! Arsha had to admit the lengths that Gallus had gone through to keep the contents of his journal secret were rather impressive. After a fair amount of sneaking and several close calls with some dwemer machinery, Arsha had finally obtained the information that Enthir had needed.

When she had returned to the mage, Karliah had been there. The two of them had waited with baited breath as Enthir had translated the small journal. After what had seemed like an eternity, Enthir had let out a low whistle. He had gone on to explain that had Gallus thought that Mercer had been stealing from the Guild vault for years. He also said the Frey had desecrated something called the Twilight Sepulcher. Karliah had murmured something to Enthir and then the two of them had left for Riften, evidence of Mercer’s extreme betrayal in hand.

On the way back, Arsha had asked about the Twilight Sepulcher. Karliah had given a deep sigh before saying, “You've come this far, I don't see a reason to hide it from you any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is a temple to the goddess Nocturnal that the Nightingales are sworn to protect. If Mercer truly has defiled it, we are in much graver danger than I had thought.”

The rest of the trip had been silent, which had left Arsha to her unpleasant thoughts. With each step that they had taken towards Riften, the memories of her time as the Dragonborn had become more and more prominent in her mind. Now that they were standing outside of the door to the Cistern, her mind felt as if it were on fire. Each memory was a blazing beacon of pain for her, and she knew that seeing Brynjolf would only make it worse. As Karliah slowly pushed the door open, Arsha wondered if it would have been better for Brynjolf if he never knew that she was actually alive. It was too late now, and so Arsha stepped firmly through the door, pushing her pain to the back of her mind. She had more important things to worry about.

Brynjolf heard the door to the Cistern creak open and his eyes immediately shot that direction. When he saw the two figures standing in the doorway, he stood angrily and strode towards them, fury in every step.

“You!” Brynjolf's voice was venom as he spat the word at the woman in the front. “How dare you come here after all you've done! You took Gallus and now you've taken Arsha too. Isn't that enough, Karliah?” Karliah flinched slightly at Gallus’s name.

“Brynjolf, please just listen to me. I have proof that you've all been deceived,” Karliah pleaded, but her words fell on deaf ears.

“Why would I believe a single word you say? All you've ever done is lie to us!” If Karliah seriously thought that Brynjolf would fall for her trickery again, she had another thing coming.

From the shadows behind Karliah, the other figure stepped forward, seeming hesitant to do so. “Bryn,” the voice was soft, but Brynjolf still recognized it. How could he not? “Please, just listen to Karliah. Please, hear her out,” Arsha sounded sincere, but Brynjolf barely heard her. He was too focused on the fact that the lass wasn't dead. Mercer had said that she was dead!

“How…” Brynjolf didn't even know how to ask what was happening. “You're supposed to be dead!”

Arsha visibly flinched at his words, which made a bolt of shame flash through him. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh. “That sounded bad. I'm sorry, lass. Mercer told me that Karliah had killed you.”

At those words, Karliah spoke up again. “That's what I need to speak to you about. Mercer has been lying to the Guild, and I have proof,” Karliah held out a leather bound journal, which Brynjolf took suspiciously.

Brynjolf read the journal, and as he read a sense of dread began to fill him. If this was true, then the small puzzle pieces he had discovered would make a very clear picture. A picture that he did not like in the slightest.

“Let's pretend for a moment that I believe that this journal belonged to Gallus. What proof do you have that Mercer actually committed these supposed crimes?” Brynjolf asked. He needed solid proof, something he could see before he would believe that his entire world was a lie and that his mentor had betrayed the Guild.

“I have no proof that Mercer killed Gallus, only my word. I would never have killed my beloved.” Karliah’s voice was pained, and Brynjolf found that he believed her, despite his personal efforts not to. “I can, however, prove that Mercer has been stealing from the Guild. I need you to open the vault, Brynjolf.”

At Brynjolf's side, Delvin let out a disbelieving chuckle. “That vault takes two keys to open. The only way that Mercer could have opened it was by asking Bryn or me to open it with him. And that didn't happen.”

Brynjolf shook his head slowly. He had a bad feeling about all of this. “Let's open it, Del. It won't hurt to check,” Delvin nodded and the two of them strode over to the large vault doors Karliah, Vex, and Arsha following close behind.

Brynjolf watched as Delvin inserted his key into one of the locks and turned it. The door was still locked tight. Brynjolf stepped forward, a strange nervousness filling him, as he carefully turned his key in the lock. There was a loud click, the sound deafening in the tense silence of the Cistern, and Brynjolf cautiously pushed the door open. Next to him, Delvin gasped as they all saw the contents of the vault, or rather, the lack of them.

“It's gone.” Brynjolf's voice sounded devastated even to his own ears. Everything that the Guild had been working toward was now gone. Vex and Delvin quickly stepped into the room and began looking for something, anything, that Mercer had missed. Brynjolf didn't bother moving. Mercer had robbed them blind, plain and simple, there was no way that he left anything of value behind.

“I'm sorry, Brynjolf,” Arsha’s voice was barely above a whisper as she stepped forward to stand next to him.

Brynjolf shook his head, too stunned to really speak. Mercer had taken everything. Brynjolf had trusted him, even if Mercer was temperamental at times. Brynjolf had thought that Mercer truly cared for the Guild, for Gallus. He was wrong. Brynjolf felt a gloved hand slip into his softly. He looked over at Arsha, surprised. The lass typically refrained from physical contact, especially after the bandit incident.

Arsha’s amber eyes met his, and Brynjolf found a strange sense of comfort in them. Even though they had all been betrayed, Arsha was standing with an air of confidence around her. “Mercer will pay for this, Brynjolf. He will.”

From inside the vault, Vex spoke up and there was rage in every syllable as she ground out between her teeth, “I will kill Mercer for this!” Delvin, who was standing next to the silver-haired thief, held out his hands in a cautionary gesture.

“Put the daggers down, Vex. Losin’ our heads won't do any good,” he pointed out, his voice somehow calm despite the situation. Vex lowered the blades slowly and sheathed them, the enraged snarl never leaving her face.

“Delvin is right, losing our heads won’t help, but staying on guard will.” Brynjolf turned to the two thieves. “Vex, Del, I want you to get a few of the other members and guard all of the entrances to both the Flagon and the Cistern,” he said.

Vex and Delvin nodded. “If Mercer steps even one foot in the Cistern, I’ll cut it off,” Vex threatened with a low growl. Brynjolf only nodded in response; that was exactly how he was feeling. Vex and Delvin left, leaving only Karliah and Arsha standing with Brynjolf in the infuriatingly empty room.

Brynjolf turned to Arsha and a strange feeling entered his chest. Brynjolf barely heard Karliah excuse herself in a murmur. As soon as she had slipped out the door Brynjolf strode forward until he and Arsha were only inches apart. Their eyes met, and Brynjolf saw swirling emotions in Arsha’s golden irises. “Arsha…” Brynjolf didn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to explain the way he had felt when Mercer had returned and told the Guild that she was dead? How did he explain that pain? How did he explain the way that her face had been the only thing that he had been able to see when he closed his eyes? How did he tell her that when she had been gone, his world had stopped?

Arsha’s eyes twinkled in the dim light, and Brynjolf could tell that under her mask, she was smiling. “Thank you, Brynjolf.”

“What for, lass?” Brynjolf hadn’t done anything. In fact, before he had recognized her, he had been ready to strike her down simply because she stood with Karliah.

“For caring. When Mercer stabbed me, all I could think of was you, and the pain that you might feel once he told you I was dead. But I was happy because I knew you cared. I’ve brushed death many times,” she said, and Brynjolf could practically hear the memories in her voice. “But this was the first time that I felt someone would miss me being in their life. So thank you for that,” Arsha explained. Her voice held more emotion in it than Brynjolf had ever heard in it before, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Lass...I…” Brynjolf paused and took a deep breath before he pushed on, “You never have to thank me. I should be thanking you. You have brought this Guild out of the hole it was in, even with Mercer undermining our efforts. You have brought the life and spirit back to us, back to me,” Brynjolf took a small step closer and grabbed one of Arsha’s gloved hands in his own. “Thank you,” he repeated softly, and Arsha’s eyes shone a little brighter.

“You’re welcome, Bryn,” Arsha said softly, and in the back of his mind, Brynjolf hoped that that voice would stay in his mind forever. “Now, you should catch a few hours of sleep, you need it, while I go find some kind of lead on Mercer.”

Brynjolf chuckled. “Is it that obvious?” he asked in reference to his current sleep deprived state. He really hadn’t been able to catch more than an hour of sleep since Mercer had returned with the news. He had tried multiple times, but in the end, the memories of Arsha were too painful for him to endure. Now, however, the only thing he would have to worry about was dreaming of Mercer. Brynjolf had a feeling that as long as his dream supplied him with at least a knife, he wouldn’t mind seeing Mercer. Not in the slightest.

Arsha let out one of her quiet laughs that Brynjolf loved as she responded with a simple, “Yes.”

Brynjolf shook his head with a smile before replying seriously. “Alright, lass. I suggest checking out Riftweald Manor. It’s Mercer’s house here in town. If there’s a trace of him anywhere, it’ll be in there.” He paused. “Just be careful.” Who knew what Mercer kept in that house? It had been a gift from Maven Blackbriar, but Mercer never stayed there.

“I always am, Bryn. Sleep well,” Arsha replied and sent him a final look that Brynjolf couldn’t quite read before she was gone. Despite all that had happened, Brynjolf felt a small smile on his face. It was good to have Arsha back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of that chapter? What do you think will happen next? I love to hear your comments and suggestions! Thank you for sticking with me this far!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsha explores Mercer's house.

Somewhere in the dim light of Riftweald Manor one of the mercenaries Mercer had undoubtedly hired to guard the house shuffled, the sound seeming loud to Arsha’s alert ears. She carefully closed the door behind her and entered the darkness.

Getting into Riftweald had been easy. All she had done was use a few honeyed words and Vald had left his post. Unfortunately, the instant Vald had left memories had come flooding into Arsha’s mind. When she had just begun to sink into the evil woman she had later become, her persuasive skills had ruined more lives than her blades. People had trusted her, and she had abused that trust. It had been all too easy to whisper promises in the ear of a Jarl or a merchant and then turn around and take everything from them. Her persuasiveness made such a mark that the people in Markarth had taken to calling her the Silver Dragon in reference to her silver tongue after she had tricked the Jarl out of half of his treasury. Arsha had to take a moment to push down the disgust that she felt for herself before she was able to enter the building.

Asha’s steps were cautious as she snuck through the large manor. She had no way to know what traps and nasty surprises Mercer had left behind. He had hired mercenaries to protect the house, and Arsha had the distinct feeling that he had done much worse than that. Her bow stayed drawn as she searched the house for some trace of Mercer or some clue to where he could have gone.

As she walked down one of the dark halls, a strange cabinet wardrobe her eye. The wood of the wardrobe was solid, more so than the others in the house had been so far, and the back was much thicker than it needed to be. Suspicious, Arsha pulled open the doors of the wardrobe and pushed on the back, remembering how the secret entrance to the Cistern was opened. At her touch, the back of the wardrobe swung open to reveal a passage even darker than the house. Arsha cast a candlelight spell to light her way and then stepped into the stone tunnel.

The tunnel wound its way around and Arsha had to be certain to place each foot carefully as she stepped. Mercer had left behind more than a few traps to deter anyone from reaching whatever was on the other end of these tunnels. Mercer certainly was paranoid, although it seemed that he had a good reason to be, namely the fact that he had been conning the Guild that had practically invented the method.

Arsha was painfully snapped out of her thoughts as a burst of flame scorched her left leg. A pained gasp escaped her lips and she quickly stepped back. She had stepped on some kind of pressure plate that had triggered a gout of flame. Arsha carefully bent forward to examine the plate. It was faintly scorched in an ‘x’ pattern. Arsha looked at the plate next to it and saw that that one was also scorched in the same way. The third tile was blank though. After quickly healing the minor burn on her leg, Arsha cautiously stepped on the unmarked plate. Nothing happened. Arsha smiled to herself as she spotted the same pattern continuing across the floor. It wasn’t long before she was on the other side of the small room, untouched by any more flames.

The tunnel continued for a few more feet and then stopped at a wooden door. Knowing Mercer and judging by the number of traps that had littered the way so far, opening the door would trigger something. Arsha stood to the side of the door as she opened it and prayed that she would be out of the way of whatever trap Mercer had set. The door opened and as soon as it did metal darts flew past Arsha’s face, coming within an inch of her mask. After the darts stopped flying, Arsha waited a few more seconds to see if Mercer had any other surprises for her. Nothing else happened, so Arsha stepped through the doorway and into the small room.

Arsha’s eyes were immediately drawn to the small table along the back wall of the room. On the table was a sheet of paper. Arsha grabbed the paper and quickly scanned it, eyes going wide as she did so. She had found Mercer’s plans, and if he succeeded with these plans they would never be able to catch him and make him pay for his crimes. She needed to get this information to Brynjolf and Karliah.

Arsha quickly emptied the room of all valuables as well as a bust of the Grey Fox that she thought Delvin might like before scrambling down the small tunnel she saw. She dropped down a hole in the floor and landed in a crouch. The place looked familiar and after a moment she realized where she was. She was right outside of the Ragged Flagon. Mercer had built his own private entrance to the Guild. Arsha shook her head and opened the door to the Flagon.

Everyone in the usually lively tavern was silent and on edge. Dirge only nodded stiffly at her as Arsha walked by. Mercer had done so much more than rob the Guild of its gold. He had also stolen their spirit. A spirit that would never be the same again until Mercer was caught and had been punished for his treachery.

The Cistern was much the same way. Arsha entered only to have a dagger placed at her throat. Rune quickly let her go, but he didn’t sheathe his dagger. He only bowed his head briefly in an apology before turning back to the door with his weapon at the ready. It hurt Arsha to see the Guild like this. Rune was one of the kindest people she had ever known, but when she looked in his eyes now, there was only pain and anger and a willingness to kill. Mercer had broken the Guild.

Arsha’s steps were fueled by her rage as she strode over to where Brynjolf and Karliah stood, bent over the desk that had once belonged to Mercer Frey. Brynjolf must have heard her approach, as he looked up from the desk and opened his mouth to speak, but Arsha didn’t give him the chance. “I know where Mercer is,” she declared as she placed Mercer’s detailed plans on the table in front of Karliah and Brynjolf. The two quickly read the paper and Arsha watched as both of their faces went from shocked to concerned to outraged.

“Lass, these are the plans for the greatest heist that the Guild was ever going to pull. The Eyes of the Falmer,” Brynjolf stated, awe and rage mixing in his voice.

“This was Gallus’s pet project. He was planning on pulling it with Mercer and I. With the Eyes the Guild would have been set up for years. We would have been able to do anything we wanted,” Karliah’s soft voice was sad. Arsha had a feeling that she and Gallus had spent years planning this. Beside her, Brynjolf nodded, a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered events of the past. Then he shook his head forcefully and continued.

“If Mercer manages to get his hands on just one of these, he’ll be set for life. He will disappear and we will have no chance of finding him again.”

Karliah looked thoughtful as she responded, “We are no match for Mercer, but I know a way that we could level the playing field. I need both of you to meet me at the Shadow Stone outside of Riften as soon as you can.”

Arsha, who had learned to simply trust Karliah’s cryptic commands, nodded in acceptance and Brynjolf did the same, although he looked confused as he did so. “All right, Karliah, but why? What do you have that could give us an edge on Mercer?”

Karliah looked anxious as she replied, “I’ll explain more once we’re there. Please, trust me Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf looked uncertain and so Arsha nodded minutely, hoping that if she showed Brynjolf that she trusted Karliah he might trust her as well. At least enough that he would meet with her outside of Riften. Thankfully, Brynjolf took her hint. “We’ll be there.” Karliah nodded and then strode away from them, toward the ladder that would take her out of the Cistern.

There was silence for a few moments, and Arsha used the time to study Brynjolf more closely. His hood was down and his flaming hair was disheveled, no doubt from him running his hands through it over and over again. He did, however, look like he had taken her advice and gotten some sleep. The dark circles that had been under his eyes earlier were lighter now and he seemed more refreshed.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come back with Karliah, you know,” Arsha mused in a quiet voice. “I’ve never had a constant life before and it felt so familiar. Betrayal and then leaving. I’ve done it before more times than I can count.” Normally it was her who was the one who did the betraying, although Arsha didn’t say that. “But then I realized something, Brynjolf.”

“And what was that, lass?” For some reason, Brynjolf’s voice held more emotion in it than Arsha thought it should.

“I thought of you, and the rest of the Guild. I realized that this time I had something that I have never had before. This time I have a family. I have people who would actually care if I disappeared. I knew Mercer had told you that I was dead and I thought about keeping it that way. I could disappear and restart my life again. I can’t explain how strange it was when I realized that I didn’t want to.”. Arsha shrugged her shoulders lightly. “That might not make sense to you, I know you’ve lived in the Guild for most of your life, but feeling like I belong is new to me.”

Brynjolf smiled and Arsha felt a warm feeling spread in her chest. “Well, lass, I’m glad you came back. Things weren’t right when you were gone, and I don’t know how we’d deal with Mercer without you.” Brynjolf smiled at her again, and Arsha couldn’t help but be amazed at how easily this nord thief could affect her. If she was honest with herself, it had been thoughts of him and not the Guild as a whole that had brought her back.

“Speaking of Mercer,” Brynjolf continued in a reluctant tone. “We should probably meet Karliah. If she really does have something that can help us take on Mercer then we need to use it. He is going to pay for his crimes against the Guild, and against you, with his life,” Arsha nodded gravely, but on the inside, she was touched. Maybe it was only a slip of the tongue, but somewhere inside of him, Brynjolf saw her as more than part of the Guild. He shouldn’t, and she knew that. He should hate her and push her away, but she didn’t have the courage to tell him that. Doing so would ruin her chance at a semi-normal life with the Guild. The happiness that Arsha had felt just a moment before fled as the guilt and shame crashed down on her. Not for the first time, she was grateful that her mask hid her emotions so well.

“Lead the way, Brynjolf,” Arsha said with a gesture to the ladder out of the Cistern, and her voice held no hint of her inner turmoil. This was the double life that she had chosen to lead, this life with the Guild. It hurt, but there was no way that it could ever hurt as much as telling him the truth would. Brynjolf sent her one last smile before walking past her towards the wooden ladder that Karliah had climbed a few minutes before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think about that little moment between Arsha and Brynjolf? Their relationship is so close to becoming real!
> 
> I appreciate any comments I receive (and by appreciate I mean love to the moon and back)! Thank you for sticking with me!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karliah, Brynjolf, and Arsha head to Nightingale Hall to earn their edge against Mercer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say is I had much more fun writing this than I should have. This chapter is longer than most of my other chapters have been, but for some reason, I feel like that isn't going to help my case... Anyway, enjoy and if you're emotional like me you should probably keep some tissues handy!

The instant Arsha stepped into the dark halls of the Nightingale Hall a wall of memories hit her like a physical force. She stumbled backward into Brynjolf, whose strong hands gripped her shoulders as she steadied herself. “Woah there, lass. Are you alright?” Brynjolf questioned. Arsha nodded, but in reality, she could barely stand. The memories pushed on the mental barrier that she had built to keep them away and her head felt as if someone was trying to split it open with a warhammer.

Karliah murmured something about pushing on and continued ahead. Brynjolf followed her after shooting a brief glance at Arsha that she barely saw. The memories grew stronger and Arsha could tell that the only way she was going to be able to walk was if she let them in. As Karliah began explaining something about the Nightingales and Mercer to Brynjolf, Arsha lowered the wall that kept her painful memories buried and let them flow into her mind. For a brief second, all of the pain in her head disappeared and her mind was quiet. Then the flood of memories hit.

“Dovahkiin!” The voices of the Greybeards shook the old walls of Whiterun as Arsha made her way up the steps to the Cloud District. The word rang in her ears, condemning her to her fate as the Savior of Tamriel as the tremors threw her to the ground. As she lay on the steps, the burn that she had gotten from the large dragon that had attacked Helgen flared to life and brought tears to her eyes.

They were in a large room now, and Karliah was continuing her explanation of who the Nightingales were and what their purpose was. Arsha tried to pay attention to the conversation. She managed to respond to a few questions aimed her way, but they hadn't even made it across the room when another memory dragged her back under the surface.

“Paarthurnax, why won’t this scar heal? My magic has healed all of my other wounds, but this one never goes away,” Arsha asked her wise mentor and friend. She stood on the top of the Throat of the World trying to find answers to some of her most vexing questions.

A deep rumble came from Paarthurnax’s throat as he considered his reply. “You received that the day Alduin attacked Helgen, correct?” Arsha nodded. She had been running for cover when a giant wing had knocked her down. She had felt the flames envelope her entire back, but when she finally made it to the safety of the keep, she realized that only a small portion of her back was actually burned. A small portion in the shape of a dragon with outstretched wings. “You have been claimed by your destiny as Dovahkiin, Dragonborn. You cannot change your daan, your fate.” A few tears fell from Arsha’s eyes at the old dragon’s words, but she nodded in acceptance.

Arsha came back to her senses and realized that the three of them were now standing a room that Karliah was calling the armory. “Arsha, Brynjolf, place your hands on one of the three stones. The power of Nocturnal will conjure the armor.”. Arsha obeyed Karliah’s instructions, wanting to get this over with before her next memory hit her. Beside her, Brynjolf looked hesitant but placed his hand on the stone. Karliah did the same. The armor appeared in front of each of them.

For a few brief seconds Arsha stared at the armor, hesitant to put it on. It had been years since Arsha had worn anything other than her armor. This is what she felt safe in. “There’s a mask very similar to your own in the armor, Arsha. Please hurry, every second we linger Mercer grows farther from our reach,” Arsha nodded and pulled on the armor after casting the same spell she had cast when she had been in Honeyside. She pulled the hood over her head and placed the mask on her face just as her spell ran out, rendering her visible again.

Brynjolf and Karliah had also changed into their new Nightingale armor. The armor covered everything except their eyes. Brynjolf’s eyes were as green as flawless emeralds and seemed even brighter against the black of the armor. Karliah’s eyes seemed a more intense purple, like cunning given form.

“Alright, Karliah, we have the armor, but I have a feeling that there is more to this than just a new suit. What’s next?” Brynjolf asked, sounding wary.

Karliah nodded. “You’re right. In order to truly gain an edge on Mercer, you must both pledge your service to Nocturnal and become Nightingales.” Arsha only nodded at the news. Honestly, she had expected as much. She had dealt with Deadra on more than one occasion and with them, nothing ever came freely. Arsha had sold her soul more than once and doing so again, while it felt wrong, was a price that she was willing to pay in order to defeat Mercer. It wasn’t as if she had a chance of ever seeing Sovngarde again anyway, considering her other pledges, not to mention her deeds.

“I’m ready to take whatever oath Nocturnal needs me to, but she may have some difficulty taking my soul after I die,” Arsha said, which earned her a curious glance from Brynjolf. She shrugged. “It’s a long story,” she said in response to his look. She could hear the exhaustion in her voice as she spoke. She had been holding another memory at bay as she changed and spoke with Karliah and it was quickly draining her strength.

Brynjolf began speaking to Karliah about the terms of the arrangement, but once again, Arsha struggled to hear them. The pain in her head multiplied tenfold and another memory enveloped her senses.

Arsha drove her daggers into Alduin’s head and watched with a grim satisfaction as the dragon began to disintegrate under her feet. She jumped off of the felled dragon’s snout and onto the ground, watching as Alduin’s remains swirled in the air of Sovngarde before disappearing. A grin of triumph spread across her face and she turned to the three warriors who aided her in the battle. She opened her mouth to thank them when the scar that she carried on her back in the shape of a dragon exploded with pain. Arsha crumpled to her knees as the pain overwhelmed her. After what must have been a full minute of agony, the pain disappeared. Arsha stood and hesitantly brushed her hand along the spot where her scar was. Nothing had changed. She had fulfilled her destiny as Dragonborn and still, the mark stayed.

As Arsha slowly became conscious of her surroundings again, she realized that she was standing on one of three platforms. On the middle one, Karliah was kneeling in reverence to a large purple orb that Arsha could only assume was Nocturnal. It had taken the presence of a deadra to draw Arsha out of her memories.

“What could you possibly offer me now?” Nocturnal spoke in a strange voice that Arsha could feel in her bones.

"I have two others that wish to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death," Karliah responded humbly. Across the room, Brynjolf shifted uneasily but didn’t contradict her.

 

"You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favor," There was laughter in the deadra’s voice.

 

"My appetite for Mercer's demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace."

 

"Revenge? How interesting... very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed."

 

"Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met," Karliah chanted in a firm voice.

 

"Very well. I name your initiates Nightingale and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I'd suggest you refrain from disappointing me again,” With those final words Nocturnal disappeared and the three newly appointed Nightingales walked down from the platforms where they stood.

For a few moments, the three of them stood there in silence, looking at each other with a feeling of finality. They were the Nightingale Trinity now, appointed by the Mistress of Shadows herself. Karliah broke the awed silence with a quiet sigh. “Now that you have both taken the Oath, I see no reason to hide the truth from you any longer. Mercer did more than steal the Guild’s gold. He stole the Guild’s luck. Mercer was able to open the Vault with only one key because he stole a powerful artifact from the Sepulchre called the Skeleton Key. With it, Mercer can unlock his full potential as well as open any door. When he stole the Key, he severed the Guild’s ties with Nocturnal. If the Key is not returned, the Guild’s luck will diminish until there is none left.”

Arsha sighed inwardly. Deadric princes always seemed to be losing their magical artifacts. “Once we find Mercer, we will have to kill him and take back the Key to return to Nocturnal,” Arsha stated simply. Karliah nodded and Brynjolf let out a soft sigh.

“Lass,” he said “I have something I need to talk to you about,” Karliah took that as her cue to exit and did so leaving the two alone. Arsha stepped forward on instinct, closing much of the distance between the two. Brynjolf’s eyes were sparkling with an emotion that Arsha couldn't identify.

“Karliah and I got to talking,” he absentmindedly pulled down his hood and mask as he spoke so that he could run his fingers nervously through his fiery hair. “We’ve decided that something needs to be done about the leadership of the guild.” Arsha gasped, her eyes widening in shock and fear.

“No, Brynjolf, please. Don’t do this. ” Arsha protested quietly.

“I haven’t even said anything yet, lass,” Brynjolf pointed out, the grin that Arsha loved so much appearing on his face.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I won’t let you make that mistake. I am not going to be the new Guildmaster!” she declared and felt her cheeks flush. She should have known this would happen. It always did. Every single time!

“Well, someone has a high opinion of herself. I didn’t even ask you and you still refused,” he said in a mock disapproving tone. “Seriously though, lass, consider it. You’d be a wonderful person to tame the rabble we call a guild,” he declared, a mostly serious expression on his face.

“Why me, Bryn? I’ve only been in the Guild for a few months. Surely Vex or Delvin or even yourself would be better qualified,” Arsha pointed out, trying to convince Brynjolf to rebuke his offer.

“Vex is a fabulous thief, but she doesn’t have the attitude that the Guild needs from its leader. Delvin is too comfortable in the position he is in now. He prefers pulling strings from behind the scenes. As for me, lass, I’m not meant to be a leader. Second-in-command is the highest I’ve ever wanted to be,” Brynjolf explained.

“And how do you know I’m any better, Brynjolf?” How could he not see that this was a mistake?

“I can tell you have experience leading, lass. Besides, you’re one of the best thieves that the Guild has ever seen. And I trust you,” Brynjolf stated with a shrug of his shoulders as if it was obvious.

“How? How can you trust me? You’ve never even seen my face.” Arsha’s question was genuine. Somehow she had earned Brynjolf’s complete trust. Of course, she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t even know how she had gotten it.

Brynjolf took a small step towards Arsha. Now their faces were barely inches apart. “I trust you because I believe that you are a good person,” Arsha laughed darkly on the inside. Brynjolf had no idea how wrong he was. “Most of us have shadowed pasts that we don’t like to talk about,” Brynjolf said softly, then he grinned. “Taking off the mask would help though.”

Arsha sighed deeply and looked into Brynjolf’s earnest green eyes. His face was an adorable mixture of honesty, trust, and, as always, humor. His red hair fell sloppily around his face making Arsha want to reach up and fix it. It was so perfect, too perfect. A million conflicting emotions battled in her heart, but when she came to her final decision she felt a strange peace.

“I will only accept the position if you completely trust me to do what is right for the Guild.” Brynjolf opened his mouth to say something, but Arsha cut him off. “That means you need to know who I truly am.”

“Lass…” Brynjolf said, and Arsha could hear the worry in his voice. Instead of jumping at the opportunity to see her face, he was worried for her. What had she ever done to deserve such a good person in her life?

“I know what I’m doing, Bryn,” Arsha said in a soft voice. “But before I give you my secret, I need you to do something.” Brynjolf nodded, still looking concerned. “Close your eyes and don’t open them until I say.” Brynjolf didn’t even question her, closing his eyes immediately.

Carefully, Arsha pulled back her hood, uncovering her face and letting her golden hair fall free. Then she gently wrapped her arms around Brynjolf, the man that she had come to care for more than any other, and kissed him. The kiss was gentle and brief, but Arsha poured her emotions into it. She conveyed her love for him as well as her wistfulness for things that could have been. Brynjolf responded to the kiss just as sweetly, and when she pulled away, his lips did not leave hers eagerly.

Arsha turned away from Brynjolf and said quietly, “Before you open your eyes, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything, lass.” he declared interrupting her.

“Promise me that whatever your reaction is you will not allow it to cloud your decisions about Mercer. We need to be united in order to defeat him. After that, well, I’ll understand if you never want to see me again.”

“I promise, lass, but there’s no need,” Brynjolf stated, concern lacing his tone.

“Thank you, Bryn. If your reaction is as I expect, though, I apologize for the kiss. It might have been my only chance.” Arsha sighed deeply and steeled herself against Brynjolf’s reaction. “Very well, you may look.”

Brynjolf opened his eyes to see Arsha standing with her back to him. She had golden hair that reached her shoulders and a portion of it was braided to form a circlet around her head, even though she never removed her hood. From her hair poked her ears. They were pointed and colored a beautiful shade of golden. Arsha was an Altmer Brynjolf concluded, surprised.

Brynjolf gently placed his hands on Arsha’s shoulders and turned her around. Her head hung and her hair covered her face, obscuring her features. He carefully lifted her chin with his fingers. Her hair fell back and he watched her set her soft yellow lips into a firm line. His eyes roamed farther up her elven face. She had high cheekbones and a long thin scar running from near her right eye down to her jaw. Her eyes looked even more startlingly beautiful without her mask. They were filled with fear, but also with an acceptance of her fate. That look tore at Brynjolf’s insides knowing that she expected hate from him despite what they had been through. Her face looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen her before.

“Why do you expect me to hate you, lass?” Brynjolf asked in a soft voice.

“Brynjolf, can’t you see? I gave you scars, so many scars…” Arsha’s voice was broken as it trailed away into nothingness. Brynjolf looked at her sadly.

“I don’t understand, lass.”

Arsha looked at him, her golden eyes filled with pain and Brynjolf could see as she came to a decision. “Please move over, Bryn,” Arsha’s voice trembled only slightly, but he heard it nonetheless. Brynjolf obeyed, moving a few feet to the right. Then Arsha took a deep breath and Shouted. “Fus Ro Dah!” The Shout wasn’t aimed at him, but Brynjolf still staggered backward as the incredible power of Arsha’s thu’um rushed past him.

“Brynjolf, I am Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.”. Some part of Brynjolf’s mind noticed that Arsha’s eyes were filled with tears, but he was too stunned to do anything about them. She was the Dragonborn!

“You didn’t recognize me because I don’t wear warpaint anymore. I’m sure you remember it,” she said. There was a choking painfulness to her voice, but Brynjolf barely heard it. Aye, he remembered her paint. He remembered the glistening black hand that covered almost her entire face. He remembered it looming over him as he struggled to keep from crying out in pain and agony!

“Your face haunts my dreams, Dragonborn,” Brynjolf heard himself sneer. Almost every night the memories of her carving into his arms and burning his flesh replayed themselves over and over. The scars that she had given him seemed to flare to life now, burning painfully.

“And yours haunts mine, Brynjolf. Every night I see your young and defiant face in pain. I watch as I torture you and it tears my heart out. I tried to break you. I tried so hard to destroy all sense of hope you had, but you broke me. I could have killed you on multiple occasions during those days. Before I met you I had never hesitated. It took you to change me.” Her head hung, and Brynjolf could see the glistening tears that rolled freely down her proud cheeks.

“Have you changed, lass? You may not torture thieves in your basement anymore, but you still lied to me and the rest of the guild! You hid the truth from us!” Brynjolf’s voice was bitter and harsh, but Arsha didn’t even react. All she did was nod miserably.

Brynjolf turned away from Arsha and tried to calm himself down. As much as he hated to admit it, Arsha had been right when she had said that they needed to be united in order to defeat Mercer. Turning back, Brynjolf saw that Arsha had slumped to the ground and held her knees to her chest. Arsha had always looked strong and confident, but now she seemed broken and lost. A tiny part of Brynjolf wanted to console her, to comfort her, but most of him felt like she was receiving a small amount of justice.

“Mercer is at Irkngthand. Meet us there,” with these parting words Brynjolf turned and walked out of the room, leaving Arsha to her pain.

Arsha didn’t know how long she sat there. Brynjolf’s words had washed over her in a wave of pain. She had expected his reaction, but it still stung sharply. He was possibly the only one she would ever love and she had destroyed any chance with him. She could have just continued happily in her secret, but he deserved to know. She only hoped that he wouldn’t tell the rest of the guild. She deserved it and they deserved it, but she wasn’t ready to face the rejection of the only family she had known in years.

She sat there and cried for what seemed like an eternity, all of her pain magnified and all of her misdeeds taunting her in her mind, but when she stood her face was devoid of all emotion. She would face this like she had faced all of her challenges when she had been the Dragonborn, with cold calmness and no emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, please don't kill me! *Hides behind her laptop* It's not so bad! I mean all I've done is ruin their budding relationship and doomed Arsha to a life of misery! That sounds a lot worse when I say it out loud... Anyway, I'll try and have another chapter up this week, although Saturday is my birthday so I may be a little busy. As always, I love comments and I thank you for reading!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Irkngthand begins! Also a dragon.

Brynjolf stomped out of the Nightingale Hall to find Karliah waiting for him by the entrance. “I take it she declined your offer,” she noted as he walked out.

 

“Yes,” Brynjolf stated shortly, trying to keep his fiery anger in check.

 

Karliah raised an eyebrow and studied his face. “There’s something else. The two of you had a falling out. What happened?”

 

Brynjolf sighed and decided to tell Karliah the truth, or at least part of it, “She kissed me.” Karliah’s eyebrow climbed higher. “Then she showed me who she really was.” Brynjolf couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. Karliah only nodded and began to walk down the path that led away from the Hall. She didn’t ask who Arsha was, which Brynjolf was glad for. He wasn’t sure he could tell anyone without revealing a whole lot of emotions he would prefer to stay hidden.

 

Brynjolf shook his head to clear it. He had to focus on the task at hand. He was not going to let Mercer get away again. He jogged down the path to catch up to Karliah.

 

They reached the Riften stables about half an hour later. The plan was to use a pair of horses to travel as far as Shore’s Stone today where they would camp for the night. Brynjolf glanced at the sky. According to the sun, it was about noon. They needed to get going if they planned to reach Shor’s Stone before sundown.

 

Brynjolf hopped on his horse and turned it down the road. Karliah took off and he followed her. They rode in silence for about an hour until Karliah said, “This… disagreement you and Arsha had, it won’t distract you from our goal, will it?”

 

“No,” Brynjolf declared firmly. “I’ll deal with Arsha later, but for now Mercer is our top priority. Nothing can change that. He is going to pay for the crimes he committed against the Guild and against-” Brynjolf stopped speaking abruptly. He had been about to say “against Arsha”. Mercer had left her to bleed out in a frozen tomb, and earlier today that had been one of the main reasons Brynjolf was hungry for Mercer’s blood, but now? ‘No,’ he scolded himself. ‘Don’t think about her.’

 

The rest of the trip went much the same way. They rode mostly in silence which left Brynjolf to his thoughts. He would think about some random thing and eventually, the line of thought would lead him back to Arsha. Whenever it did he shut his mind down for a few minutes before tentatively following another train of thought only to have the same thing happen again and again. 

 

By the time Shor’s Stone came into sight Brynjolf was more than happy to set up his tent just outside of the mining town, set a few traps just in case, and go to sleep. For once his sleep was free of dreams, something that unnerved him almost as much as the dreams themselves did.

 

Arsha reached Shor’s Stone an hour after sundown. She spied two tents just outside of the town and figured they must be Brynjolf and Karliah’s. She pitched her own a little farther away from the town and deeper in the woods. Then she went out to hunt some dinner. She returned with a dead elk which she cleaned and dressed. A few minutes later she had a small fire going. Once the meat was cooked she divided it into three portions, set hers aside, and went to offer some to Karliah. Their tents came into view and, to Arsha’s great relief, she saw that Brynjolf’s was occupied. He was out cold.

 

Karliah was sitting on a log nearby keeping watch. She saw Arsha coming and Arsha raised a hand in greeting. Karliah stood and walked toward her. There was a question written on Karliah’s face. Arsha sighed and gestured for Karliah to follow her as she walked back to her camp. Once they reached her camp Arsha sat down and gestured for Karliah to do the same. She did and opened her mouth to speak.

 

“Before you ask, eat. I know you and Bryn haven’t eaten all day.” Karliah raised an eyebrow but accepted the food Arsha offered. Arsha waited for Karliah to finish her meal, not touching her own plate. She had no appetite.

 

When Karliah finished she asked, “What happened between you and Brynjolf at the Hall? He tried to offer you the position of Guildmaster, but you declined. Then Brynjolf said you… kissed him?” Arsha would have laughed at the look on Karliah’s face if she hadn’t been so upset. Nothing had ever seemed to confuse or startle the elf, but this seemed to have done it.

 

“Yes. Brynjolf offered me the position of Guildmaster, and I said he couldn’t give it to me unless he fully trusted me. That meant he had to know who I was,” Arsha took a deep breath to steady herself. Emotionless. She had to be emotionless. “I told him to close his eyes and he did. I took off my mask and kissed him. When he opened his eyes he saw who I was, and he didn’t like it.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. What a lie that was.

 

Karliah looked at her closely, studying her face and Arsha had the most unexplainable urge to tell her the truth. She didn’t know what it was about Karliah that made her trust her, but she did. Karliah knew more about pain than most people, and maybe that was part of it. 

 

Arsha took a deep breath and let her emotional mask drop. Then she reached up and pulled down her hood and mask. She could see recognition in Karliah’s face even without the war paint. “I’m the Dragonborn,” Arsha stated. Even saying the word was painful, but she deserved that pain. “You probably didn’t feel the effects of my… power as much living on the run, but Brynjolf did. He felt them first hand.”

 

Arsha pulled up her hood and replaced her mask. Then she told Karliah the story of how she had mercilessly tortured Brynjolf and then disappeared. Karliah sat without speaking as Arsha related her tale and condemned herself once again to her life of hatred.

 

After Arsha had finished Karliah was silent for a few minutes then she said in a soft voice, “You regret hurting him,” It wasn’t a question but an observation.

Arsha nodded. “Yes, I do. Words aren’t enough to express how much I regret putting him through the pain that I did when I tortured him,” Arsha’s voice changed to a hoarse whisper as she continued, “But I regret any pain that I am causing him now even more,” Arsha bowed her head in sorrow, her hair falling in a curtain in front of her face.

 

“I will make sure Brynjolf eats before we leave,” was all that Karliah said in response to Arsha’s revelation. But it was enough. If Karliah had tried to offer Arsha some sort of comfort, it wouldn’t have felt right.

 

Arsha nodded her gratitude. Karliah walked away leaving Arsha to her thoughts. For over fifteen years, Arsha had lived under her mask and never told anyone who she was. Now, in less than twelve hours she had told two people her darkest secret. But for some reason, she felt better. Not much better, but her heart didn’t weigh as heavily anymore.

 

Arsha crawled into her tent and closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. She felt the warmth of Brynjolf's lips on hers and then saw the cold fury in his eyes as he realized her true identity every time she neared sleep.   
Eventually, she gave up. Exiting the tent she sat under the trees and stared up at the midnight sky. The stars shone brightly and Arsha could clearly see the sign of the Thief, her chosen constellation. How often had she stared at these same stars throughout her long life, wondering what her purpose was? What would she do, now that her chance at a life with the Guild was gone? Perhaps she would leave Skyrim entirely. She could not return to Alinor, it held too many painful memories for her, but she had always wanted to visit High Rock. Arsha’s thoughts strayed between the many possibilities until the sun began to rise. Stretching slowly, she stood and gathered her things. 

Brynjolf woke to see the first rays of sunshine peek over the horizon. He crawled out of his tent wearily, looking for Arsha. He was confused when he couldn’t see her, but then the events of the past day crashed down on him. Arsha was the Dragonborn! The thought hit him with such force that he staggered backward, bumping into Karliah.

 

“Are you alright, Brynjolf?” Karliah asked quietly, her voice concerned.

 

“I'm fine, lass. Let's get going,” he responded quickly.

 

“Not yet, first you eat.” Karliah’s stern tone caught him off guard. He didn't see why his eating habits were such a concern, but the look in Karliah’s eyes stilled any arguments.

 

When he finished, the two of them packed up and headed out. The morning was cool with a brisk breeze. It was the kind of day Brynjolf usually enjoyed, but today the sun seemed dimmed and the wind harsh.

Arsha followed after Brynjolf and Karliah. She knew that at a glance she looked tall, haughty, and uncaring. She rode as if she did not care what the others thought, even though they could not see her. It was an act she had often performed when she was the Dragonborn. That was all it was though, an act. In reality, she was avoiding Brynjolf. She could not bear to see the look of pure hatred on his face that would be there because of her presence.

When they stopped for a meal around noon Arsha merely handed the food she had gathered to Karliah before turning away and walking out of sight. She had nearly finished her own meal when she felt a tingling sensation in her blood. It was a feeling that she had felt many times before, and she dreaded what followed it.

An ear-splitting roar pierced the air as Arsha leaped to her feet. Appearing over the horizon was a golden dragon that was barreling straight towards Brynjolf and Karliah.

As she ran towards her fellow Nightingales Arsha pulled out her bow and fit an arrow to the string. She was still too far away. Meanwhile, the dragon came closer to Bryn and Karliah. They were both standing there, frozen in shock. The dragon opened its mouth, and Arsha arrived just in time to push Karliah and Brynjolf to the ground. A jet of flame scorched the air where their heads had been a split second before. “Zu’u los Dovahkiin, faas zu’u!” I am (the) Dragonborn, fear me! Arsha bellowed toward the golden dragon, the words vibrating with the power of her Thu’um.

The dragon above made a deep rumbling noise that Arsha recognized as laughter. “Dovahkiin suleyk los krent! Zu'u dreh ni faas hi!” (The) Dragonborn's power is broken! I do not fear you!

“We will see about that!” Arsha growled in Tamrielic. By this time Brynjolf and Karliah had started to move. “Aim for its eyes,” she told them as she drew her bow again. “And be wary of its Shouts!” Then she ran to the side, drawing the dragon’s gaze.

The dragon landed in front of her, snapping at her with its powerful jaws. “Fo, Krah, Diin!” As Arsha shouted her breath turned to razor-edged ice crystals which slammed into the dragon. The great beast staggered slightly, clearly surprised by the shout’s power. Arsha smirked darkly, she would show the dragon just how unbroken her voice was. The dragon opened its maw and bellowed out a stream of fire which Arsha barely dodged. As she rolled Arsha saw an ebony arrow fly through the air into the dragon’s eye. It roared in pain and took to the skies.

Arsha and Karliah fired arrow after arrow at the flying dragon, but few caused any real damage. They were getting nowhere. Arsha took a deep breath and gathered her thu’um. Then she shouted, “Joor, Zah, Frul!” The words hit the dragon, forcing it to land.

“Now, Karliah!” At Arsha’s words, Karliah unloaded half of her quiver into the dragon. The dragon thrashed as the arrows flew causing many to miss. Only a few of Arsha’s hit as well. Out of the corner of her eye, Arsha noticed Brynjolf sneaking along the dragon’s side, his blade drawn. He leaped forward and plunged the blade into a chink between two of the beast’s scales. As Brynjolf struggled to remove his blade, Arsha saw the dragon’s tail whip towards him. “Brynjolf, duck!” Arsha yelled frantically. For a split second, Brynjolf did nothing before dropping to the ground. The tail passed right over his head. Arsha breathed a sigh of relief.

Her relief was short-lived, however, for the dragon let out another burst of flame. Arsha lunged to the side, but the flames scorched the side of her armor, and the heat caused her skin to blister instantly. She hissed in pain.

The dragon didn't spare her any time to recover. It snapped at her and only a well-timed arrow from Karliah that made the dragon shudder in pain saved her. Despite the narrowness of her escape, Arsha could tell the dragon was weakening. Its shouts were no longer as strong, and it did not try to take to the air despite the fact that Arsha’s shout had worn off.

After sending a few arrows to join Brynjolf's dagger in the dragon's side, Arsha summoned her Voice again. “Yol, Toor, Shul!” The flames hit the dragon at the same time that Karliah buried an arrow in one eye and Brynjolf sunk his remaining dagger into the other. The dragon fell with a ground-shaking roar. Its scales began to turn to flames as Arsha absorbed the dragon's soul. The white energy swirled around her, and she felt the souls of the many dragons rise within her; the power was intoxicating. Then, as she smiled at the feeling, she looked over at Brynjolf. He looked at her as if she, standing in the middle of this vortex of power, was nothing more than the scum on his boot. The euphoric feeling disappeared immediately.

Arsha broke eye contact with Brynjolf, but she felt his disapproving eyes on her as she strode over to the dragon’s bones. Kneeling next to the remains, Arsha saw Brynjolf's daggers glinting in the sunlight. She scooped them up along with all of the arrows she could scavenge.

Arsha returned to Karliah and handed her the ebony arrows that the dark elf had fired. “Here,” she said handing the deadly arrows over. Karliah nodded her thanks. Arsha then walked over to Brynjolf, who was still staring at the bones of the slain dragon. She handed him his daggers without a word. He looked up at her before she could turn away.

“What did you yell at it, before it attacked?” he asked her, his voice sounding raw.

Arsha sensed a trap, but she responded honestly saying, “I told him that I was the Dragonborn and that he should fear me.” As soon as the words left her mouth she knew she would regret them.

“He should have known better than try and stand up to the ‘most powerful woman in all of Tamriel’,” Brynjolf said quoting her own words back at her with a bitter laugh.

“Brynjolf…” Arsha wanted to tell him that she was sorry, that she would do anything to right the wrongs she had committed against him. Her words would never be enough though, so her protest into nothing. Brynjolf gave her one last look of contempt before walking away.

Arsha sighed deeply until her side protested violently. She had forgotten that the dragon had burned her. Summoning golden light, she healed herself. She sighed again, this time painlessly, before noticing Karliah watching her with concerned eyes. Arsha straightened immediately and strode back to her horse. She mounted and rode off, trying to put some distance between herself and the other two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd you like that one? I know, I'm evil. I wish I could say that I'm sorry for not fixing their relationship by now...but that would be a lie! *evil laughter*
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has sent me comments, especially to those of you who have pointed out things that I can improve on! I really do appreciate it.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight on how both Arsha and Brynjolf are feeling. Also, more pain.

Brynjolf stared after Arsha as she rode off. She had just spoken to a dragon, shouted at a dragon, and absorbed its soul. As she had absorbed the dragon’s essence he had seen the Dragonborn. As the gold white wind had swirled around her, her hood had slipped off. Brynjolf doubted that Arsha noticed, but he had. Her golden hair had floated in the wind behind her and she had looked like some kind of goddess. Then she had looked over at him, and Brynjolf had seen the raw power in Arsha’s amber eyes. This was the Dragonborn. This was the woman he and all of Tamriel feared. He had turned away from her terrible beauty. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall victim to her spell. Hate was his most powerful tool against her.

Brynjolf had stared at the bones of the fallen dragon, in awe of the majesty that the creature had, even as it lay dead. He hadn’t noticed that Arsha had approached him until he felt the weight of his daggers in his hands once again. Turning to look at Arsha, he had asked a question that had been swirling in his mind. She responded, and Brynjolf had laughed bitterly on the inside. Of course, she had commanded the dragon, a beast so deadly men would refuse to leave the safety of their homes, to fear her. She was the mighty Dragonborn after all. She could do whatever she wanted and never worry about the consequences.

Arsha had whispered his name softly, and Brynjolf had to forcibly subdue the shudder that wanted to go through him at the sound. How could a voice he had once thought beautiful now sound so harsh in his ears, even when all she did was whisper? Arsha didn’t continue though, and Brynjolf had sent her a look of contempt before walking away. 

Brynjolf had walked over to where the horses were tied up, absentmindedly rubbing his steed’s nose as he watched Arsha heal herself using the very same magic she had used on him when he had been trapped in her basement. The very thought had made the scars on his arms itch and burn. He scratched at his arms uselessly and watched Arsha ride off on her own horse, looking as tall and proud as any war hero. 

He and Karliah started after Arsha and made it to their rest stop for the night after a few hours of riding. The moon was rising and Brynjolf's hunger made itself known, loudly. He decided to do some hunting as soon as he had finished setting up his tent. He got his tent up and turned to head into the woods to hunt when something on a nearby stump caught his eye. A plate full of food, still steaming hot. A glance around told him that Karliah was still setting up her tent. That meant the food must have come from Arsha. Why? Whatever game she was trying to play with him, he would not go along willingly. With a determined look in his eyes, he set off to find himself his own food. 

 

Arsha watched Brynjolf stalk into the forest without touching the food she had left for him. The look of anger and mistrust on his face was almost too much for her to bare. His hatred ran deep. It had been planted long ago and nourished by her own hand. Now, she was doing nothing more than reaping the bitter seeds she had sown. 

A faint sigh escaped her lips. The sound must have alerted Karliah to her presence because she turned toward her. Arsha dropped down from the tree she was in and walked toward Karliah on silent feet. 

“Why does he refuse my aid, Karliah?” Arsha asked the elf, desolate.

Karliah responded after pausing to think. “He’s confused. You are the creature from his darkest nightmares,” Arsha flinched when she said those words, unable to deny their truth, “but he also has a history of companionship with you. He doesn't know who you are anymore.”.

“I don't know who I am anymore, Karliah. I had adjusted to being Arsha, the thief with the mask. Now, what am I? Am I back to being the Dragonborn, infamous hero feared by all? That is not who I want to be,” Arsha murmured in a lost tone. 

“You are not different people, Arsha. You cannot separate the actions of one from the actions of another. You are Arsha, Dragonborn, thief, mage, hunter, and so much more. You have to be confident in who you are. How can Brynjolf believe in you if you don't believe in yourself?” 

Arsha hung her head sorrowfully. “Even if I could become the person that Brynjolf needs, I wouldn't. Somehow I will end up hurting him. That is something I can't let happen, so as soon as Mercer is dead and the Key has been returned, I will leave. I am trying to do what I can to ensure that Brynjolf has something good to remember me by when I'm gone,” Arsha explained in a soft voice. There was no way that she would be able to stay, constantly seeing the look of pure disgust on Brynjolf’s face.

Karliah stared at her in silence for a moment before asking quietly, “You're in love, aren't you?” Arsha didn't even have to think about her answer as she nodded yes. Love was the only name for these swirling feelings inside of her, for this painful longing.

“I cannot hurt the man I love again. Perhaps I should be cruel and evil these last few days so that he will feel no pain when I am gone, but I can't. I am a selfish person, Karliah. I cannot bear to see the hatred in his eyes when he looks at me, and I cannot stand the idea of that look crossing his face whenever he thinks of me or hears my name. I want him to have at least a few good memories of me.” Arsha turned away from Karliah and towards the woods. “Please make sure he eats, he might accept your help.” With that, she fled into the woods, back to her own camp.

 

Brynjolf returned to the camp, two dead rabbits in hand, to find Karliah sitting on a stump staring at nothing. “What is it lass?” he questioned as he began to skin the rabbits. 

Karliah started as if she hadn't noticed his presence. “Brynjolf…” she stopped as if she wanted to say something but wasn't sure if she should.

“What is it?” Brynjolf asked again, curious at Karliah’s behavior.

“It’s nothing. Let me see those rabbits, you Nords don't know how to properly cook food,” she responded, but Brynjolf could tell there was something else on her mind. He let the topic drop though and smiled faintly as Karliah took the rabbits from him and went about preparing them. 

He ate the meal Karliah had made with gusto, enjoying the chance to relax a little bit. The atmosphere seemed wrong though; he missed the witty quips and sarcastic remarks from Arsha. It was strange how quickly she had become a constant part of his life. He never got too attached to recruits, seeing as the often got caught or killed, but he had liked her from the start. Now, he didn't know what to think. A part of him saw the old Arsha when he looked at the woman, the thief who was almost one with the shadows, and yet seemed to brighten any room she entered with her wit and sharp mind. The larger part of him, however, saw the Dragonborn. He heard her chilling laugh as she cut into his skin, felt the blinding pain as she branded him as her own. A fierce hate filled him once again and he had to forcibly subdue it.

Brynjolf climbed into his tent, but he couldn’t sleep. Eventually, he gave up trying entirely and crawled out of the tent to sit beneath the stars. The air hummed with the noise of forest nightlife and was stirred only by the occasional gentle breeze. The stars cast a soft glow over the leaves that had fallen to the forest floor. It was the perfect image of peace, but he was anything but peaceful.

His thoughts turned in turmoil. Memories of laughs with Arsha turned into torture and pain which bled into anger and hate that faded to regret and a sense of loss. He didn’t know what to do, so he decided to do the only thing he could. He had to ignore Arsha, alienate her, force her away. Maybe then he would be able to stop feeling, stop hurting. As he came to his decision he didn’t know that not far away Arsha was sitting under the stars reaching her own.

 

How could she keep from hurting Brynjolf? The question had tumbled around her mind since she had left Karliah. Now, as the moon sunk lower in the sky, she reached her decision. She would do as Brynjolf wished. If he did not want to see her than he would not. If he did not want her aid, then she would not interfere unless she had to. It would be hard to see the cold anger on his face, but she owed this, and so much more, to him. With her decision made she slipped her mask and hood back on and set about breaking her camp. 

The dawn saw the three Nightingales on the road again. By the end of the day, they would make it to Irkngthand. Arsha rode ahead of the group like she had done before, eliminating any threats in their path. When they stopped for lunch not a single word was uttered and they were back on their horses in almost no time. By the time it was around 3 o’clock they had reached the base of the mountain where the Dwarven ruin was located. They let their horses go there. They couldn’t take them inside the ruin and there was no point in leaving them stranded on the mountain. Arsha whispered a few words in each of the horse's ears before turning them loose. 

“I told them to head to Windhelm. I know the elf who runs the stables there. He will take care of them.” she said by way of explanation. Karliah nodded gratefully. Brynjolf said nothing, not even looking at her. It hurt her almost as much as his scorn did, but she didn't say anything about it. 

The mountain was steep and covered by a foot of freezing snow. Arsha’s elven body was not built for the harsh cold of Skyrim, so when they stopped for a few moments to rest, she summoned flickering flames in her palms. The heat coursed through her and warmed her frozen limbs. She closed her eyes in satisfaction. When she opened them again she saw Brynjolf staring at the flames with a look of pain on his face. Arsha shut off her magic immediately. Shivers wracked her body as she turned away from Brynjolf and began to climb again. 

The trip to where Irkngthand sat, nestled in the snow, seemed to take ages. It had been years since Arsha had made a climb like this, and the last time she had she had been wearing her dragon scale armor that kept her sensitive elven skin warm. Now, her leathers offered her little insulation, but she would rather freeze to death than see the lines of pain that had etched themselves onto Brynjolf’s face when she had summoned her flames. And so her body was numb with the cold, to the point that she couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. 

A glance at Karliah told Arsha that the other elf felt similarly. A harsh wind swept up the mountainside and Arsha shivered despite herself and Karliah did the same. Brynjolf though looked completely unaffected. The only signs he bore of the fact that he was climbing a frigid mountain through a foot of snow were the powdery flakes that clung to his dark armor. He seemed to notice the fact that Karliah was freezing, for he stopped climbing to dig in the small bag he had slung on his back, pulling out a fur blanket. “Here you are, lass,” he said as he handed the blanket to Karliah, who hesitantly accepted it. Brynjolf never even glanced Arsha’s way. Angry at herself, Arsha pushed down any self-pity she was feeling. She was a monster, and this was what she deserved. 

Half an hour of numbed climbing later, they had made it to the doors of Irkngthand. The large bronze doors towered before them, and they seemed to Arsha to glint with an evil light. But that didn’t matter, because Mercer was somewhere on the other side of those doors, and Arsha swore to the Divines, all nine of them, that she was going to kill him.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nightingales enter the dark depths of Irkngthand.

The inside of the dwarven ruin was quiet, but it wasn’t silent. There was a hum of energy in the air and every now and then Arsha could hear the creaking of something metal echoing in the distance. There were things moving in the darkness, and their presence was more than enough to keep all three Nightingales on their toes.

Arsha had explored dwarven ruins before, more times than she had ever wanted to, but this one felt different somehow. Maybe it was the very presence of Mercer Frey somewhere in the twisting depths, or maybe it was the strained air that lay over the three Nightingales, the tension thicker than a fog.

Karliah and Brynjolf were walking ahead of Arsha, close enough for them to still be in plain sight, but far enough that any whispers that occasionally passed between them were indistinguishable, even to Arsha’s elven ears. A part of her was grateful for the distance. Being close to Brynjolf made memories rush to the surface of her mind, memories she wished she could bury forever. At the same time, Arsha hated even the smallest distance between them. The further she was from Brynjolf, the harder it would be to protect him, and the less of a chance she would have to prove how much she regretted her actions. But Brynjolf had made it quite clear that he didn’t want her anywhere near him, and Arsha would rather suffer any pain than to put the nordic thief through any more hurt with her presence. And so Arsha stayed back, her hand always on her bow to fend off any and all attacks, but never in the way.

They traveled through the darkness for almost an hour before they saw the first true sign of Mercer. They had just exited a hallway when a deafening crash echoed through the air and shook the stone floor beneath their feet. Brynjolf pointed to the far side of the cavern they had entered, to a column that had fallen. “Mercer!” Arsha quickly stepped forward and followed Brynjolf’s line of sight. She watched as Mercer Frey slipped between two large gates, but not before he glanced back, as if he knew they were watching him, knew that all they could do was watch him as he slipped out of their reach. Arsha growled under her breath as she realized what Mercer had done.

“He blocked the path,” Arsha whispered into the stunned and heavy silence.

Brynjolf whipped around to look at her, and Arsha took several quick steps backward. She hadn’t meant to get too close. Each step away from Brynjolf was like a physical pain to her. She took them anyway. She deserved the pain she felt.

“How did he do that, lass?” Brynjolf asked, but he wasn’t talking to Arsha. He was looking at Karliah who stood next to him, gazing at the spot where Mercer had vanished from their view.

“The Key,” Karliah’s soft voice was grave. “He knew we were here, so he slowed us down. This is only a fraction of the Skeleton Key’s power. We must be careful now. There is no way of knowing what else Mercer Frey could do.” Brynjolf nodded and the two of them pressed onward, deeper into the dwarven ruin. Arsha followed behind, putting arrows into the skulls of any Falmer that dared to creep out of the shadows where they dwelled.

As they made their way through the twisting ruin, they saw and felt Mercer taunting them at every turn. In one room, he had emptied all of the chests, and in another, he had written a mirrored message on the walls. With each sign, Arsha’s anger grew. Mercer didn’t see them as any kind of threat. He was toying with them, taunting them, and showing them just how far ahead of them he was.

Arsha was so distracted by her anger towards Mercer, that she almost didn’t notice that they had entered a room full of Falmer, whose hands brandished bows, swords, and crackling balls of magicka. Karliah had already felled two with arrows to the neck, but the rest of the room was coming towards the Nightingales at a terrifying speed.

A few hastily strung arrows flew through the air and embedded themselves in the eyes of the two Falmer closest to Brynjolf. The nord didn’t seem to notice the aid, too busy plunging his daggers into the chest of a Falmer shaman in front of him. Arsha fired three more arrows, each following after the other faster than the Falmer could process. Three of the creatures dropped dead, but their numbers barely seemed to diminish.

Next to Karliah, four Falmer lay at her feet, and two others circled her warily. She had dropped her bow and now stood with her Nightingale blade out, daring the twisted beings to come near her. Arsha tore her gaze away from the dark elf and fired another arrow, this time hitting a mage in the chest with enough force to spin the creature around before the body crumpled to the now bloodstained floor. Arsha didn’t stop to admire the kill though, as she immediately had to spin to her right and stab the tip of the arrow she had just drawn from her quiver into the eye of a Falmer that had attempted to sneak up on her. The failed assassin fell to the ground with a cry of surprise that died in its throat.

When Arsha turned back to where the rest of the fighting was going on, she saw that Brynjolf was in trouble. The Falmer had gotten somewhat smart, and instead of breaking into two equally sized groups to attack Brynjolf and Karliah, a few Falmer kept the dark elf busy, while the rest swarmed Brynjolf.

Brynjolf was slashing and ducking and spinning, but there were five Falmer and only one of him. As Arsha raised her bow and fit two arrows to the string, Brynjolf stabbed one in the eye, felling it. Arsha released her arrows now that she had a clear shot, and two more Falmer died clutching arrows in their throats as they went down. There were two more of the creatures left near Brynjolf, but the nord took a split second to send a withering glare to Arsha. The sign was clear, he didn’t need the help of a woman as twisted as her. Arsha bowed her head slightly in a sorrowful apology, before going back to shooting the Falmer, her movements even faster now.

It wasn’t very long before all of the Falmer had been killed. Their bodies littered the room, the smeared blood glistening when it was caught by the dim light that seemed to pulse slowly through the space. There had been a time when the sight of her enemies lying in their own blood would have given Arsha a sense of satisfaction and power. Now there was nothing. No thrill, no rush of adrenaline, not even a sickening feeling of disgust. Her emotions felt hollow as if they were incomplete.

Then, Arsha saw Brynjolf out of the corner of her eye, kneeling next to the bodies of the Falmer that had been swarming him. He looked out of breath, his hood down and his chest heaving. Arsha’s own breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart clench as she noticed the thin cut that ran down the side of the nord thief’s face. A simple glance was all it took, and Arsha’s emotions came flooding back into her numbed mind. The feeling was blindingly painful and achingly pleasant. Brynjolf was the only way she could feel whole, but being whole meant feeling everything. It meant dealing with the pain, the anger, the self-loathing, and the loneliness, but Arsha couldn’t pull herself away. She had spent the past few months actually living and feeling for the first time in years, possibly decades. Giving that up made her soul, or what little she had left, feel like it was finally dying.

An unconscious sigh escaped Arsha’s lips as her thoughts and feelings tumbled inside of her. This was the choice that she had made. This was the life that she had chosen to live. Her numbed state would soon become her only state, as she planned to leave Skyrim, and Brynjolf, behind after they killed Mercer. That knowledge was as painful as if she were driving a dagger into her own heart. But in reality, she had plunged that dagger in years ago; her body was simply catching up.

Brynjolf stared at Arsha as he wiped at the blood that trickled from the cut on his cheek. The past few hours had been quiet as the three of them passed through the dark halls of Irkngthand, but on the inside, his mind was swirling with so many different thoughts and feelings, that it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut and prevent them from coming out.

 

Arsha had been silent as she followed behind, her steps making no sound on the uneven stone floor. The only time she spoke was after the pillar had fallen. Brynjolf had turned around sharply to look at her because she didn’t sound anything like the Arsha he had known. Her voice was hollow, emotionless, so different from the lively and sarcastic tone she used to use. Had that all been an act? Did Brynjolf know anything about the woman he had taken into his life? All he knew for certain was that she was the Dragonborn, the woman who had tortured him without mercy for days. But Brynjolf didn’t hear that woman in Arsha’s voice either. He heard nothing.

Karliah murmured something about resting for a few moments before continuing on. Brynjolf nodded, drawing out of his thoughts long enough to pull a loaf of bread out of the small bag he wore on his back. He ate silently, and his thoughts pulled him back into their troubled embrace.

Brynjolf truly knew nothing about the woman who sat across from him, hidden mostly in shadow, her masked face turned towards that wall and away from him. She called herself Arsha, but Brynjolf didn’t even know if that was her true name or simply some identity she had invented. Before Brynjolf’s brain could stop his mouth he asked, “Arsha. Is that your real name, or is that just another lie that you told me and the Guild?”

Arsha, if that was her true name, flinched slightly at his words. She was silent for a few moments, and Brynjolf thought that she wasn’t going to answer the question, but then she spoke in a soft voice, just as empty of emotion as it had been earlier. “That is one thing I did not lie about. My name is Arsha Loreaen, but you and the Guild are the only people in Skyrim who know me that way. Jarls, generals, and the citizens don’t care what the name of their protector turned villain is. I am the Dragonborn, Savior of Skyrim, and Bane of Men. When I told you my name those months ago, it was the first time I had heard it spoken in over twenty years.”

Arsha’s voice kept the same monotone the entire time she spoke, and she didn’t move at all, constantly staring at the wall right in front of her. Nevertheless, Brynjolf could feel a pain in her words. The Dragonborn had never been seen as a person, even before she went rogue. ‘That’s because she didn’t deserve to be known as a person. She was a monster. She is a monster,’ Brynjolf’s mind whispered. Most of his being agreed, but there was a small part of him that didn’t. A small part of him that needed to know more about who Arsha was, about why she had become the monster that she was. His head ached from the conflicting sides, and Brynjolf shut them both down, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. Arsha would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think about that one? There are so many questions that Brynjolf has about Arsha that need to be answered and so little space to put them! As always, I love any feedback that I receive! Thanks for reading!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercer is confronted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy it! Arsha and Brynjolf sure do! *evil laughter*

“Can you feel it?” Karliah asked in a hushed voice. Arsha nodded. There was something powerful on the other side of these bronze doors. She didn’t have any trouble guessing what the source of that power was.

Brynjolf’s voice was hard as he voiced Arsha’s thoughts aloud. “The Skeleton Key has to be behind these doors, which means Mercer is there too.”

Karliah nodded and drew her blade. “Be ready for anything and remember, Mercer Frey must not leave this ruin alive.” Both Arsha and Brynjolf gave a quick nod and then Karliah pushed open the doors.

They stepped through to see Mercer Frey prying the Eyes of the Falmer from the eye sockets of a giant statue, depicting an elf fairer than any she had ever seen.

“He hasn’t seen us yet. Brynjolf, watch the door.” Karliah whispered softly, urgency in her voice.

“Aye, lass. Nothing’s getting by me,” he replied with conviction, taking up a place in front of the door, his dagger out.

Karliah turned to Arsha. “Climb down the ledge and see if you can…”

Suddenly Mercer turned around. “Karliah,” he said in a mocking tone, “when will you learn you can’t get the drop on me?” The ground below Arsha rumbled and she stumbled as the ledge fell. She scrambled to her feet, separated from her companions above her. She glared at the man, the murderer, who stood on the statue.

“When Brynjolf brought you before me I felt a shift in the winds,” Mercer said in a contemplative voice, looking down on her. “I knew that eventually one of us would meet our end at the tip of the other’s blade.”

Arsha looked at Mercer in disgust. “Give me the Key, Mercer,” she yelled up to him, her voice hard.

"What has Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key or anything having to do with the Guild," Mercer sneered.

“This isn’t about Nocturnal. This is personal,” Arsha hissed in a low, deadly voice, her hands clenching her weapons hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Revenge is it? Have you learned nothing from your time with us?” Mercer asked with a mocking laugh. “When will you realize that you are not so different from me? We both lie, cheat, and steal to further our own end.”

“I am no better than you Mercer, and I will pay for it soon enough, but you hurt the people I love! If anyone falls it will be you!” Arsha yelled, and she could feel the Thu’um rise behind her voice, her dragon spirit yearning to be freed.

“Then the die is cast and my blade will once more taste Nightingale blood!” Mercer declared and spun away from Arsha. “Karliah, I'll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companions. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted." Arsha’s eyes widened in dismay as Mercer’s hands began to glow and he cast a spell. A spell that was directed at the red-haired nord standing next to Karliah.

“Brynjolf!” Arsha cried out in fear as the nord suddenly lunged at Karliah with a vicious swipe of his dagger.

“I’m sorry Karliah... I can’t stop,” he gasped, his voice choked as if he had to struggle against an unseen force to speak. “Don’t hold back!” Karliah was too busy blocking Brynjolf’s furious blows to respond.

Arsha turned back to Mercer, her golden eyes smoldering with hate. “I will kill you for that!” she hissed through clenched teeth. Mercer smiled and then disappeared. He must have cast an invisibility spell. Hurriedly, Arsha rushed up the side of the beautiful statue. She reached the platform where Mercer had been standing, pausing only for a moment before jumping aside on instinct. Mercer’s sword sliced through the air where she had just been standing. He shimmered and reappeared, scowling. Arsha pulled out her daggers and whipped towards Mercer. She dodged inside of his first strike and came within an inch of hitting his side. He danced away and turned invisible yet again.

Arsha closed her eyes and focused on her other senses. She smelt the foul odor of Falmer. She tasted blood and sweat. She heard the rush of water. Quickly, she dashed up to the top of the statue and the stood still again. She heard something else. Something so quiet that it might have been her imagination, but she knew it wasn’t.

She lunged forward and heard Mercer hiss as she tore his armor with her dagger. He reappeared and the two of them engaged in a deadly dance. They twisted and turned and leaped aside. Frey jabbed at her arm and Arsha didn’t move quite fast enough. His enchanted sword sliced deep into her arm and she almost dropped the dagger she held. She felt some of her life force slipping away and giving a fresh power to Mercer. He smirked at her and dodged her next flurry of blows, but Arsha didn’t stop. She pushed and pushed until Mercer began to give ground. He fought against her and Arsha stumbled backward a bit. Frey lunged at her and she had to scramble to get out of the way. Her foot met the edge of the statue and she almost fell off.

Mercer came at her again and she had nowhere to go. Desperate, she turned so that Mercer was the one with his back to the edge. He didn’t seem concerned about it. He was still a few feet away and had plenty of room to move. He advanced again and the two engaged in another round of strikes and parries and dodges. Arsha had to get much closer due to her daggers and blocking one of Mercer Frey’s blows took all of her strength. She was losing this battle and the look in Mercer’s eyes told her that he could sense it too.

Arsha stabbed desperately at him, but the blow barely tore his skin. Mercer grinned a wicked grin and moved in for the kill. Arsha frantically searched for a way to escape but she knew that there was nothing she could do. She opened her mouth to call a final farewell to Brynjolf, but instead a powerful shout ripped from her throat. “Fus, Ro, Dah!” Mercer was sent tumbling backward over the edge of the statue a look of fear and utter surprise on his face. Arsha heard him land with a sickening crunch.

She scrambled down the statue to the place where Mercer lay, broken and beaten. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps and his eyes were beginning to glaze over. Arsha knelt beside him and looked into his dying eyes. This man had destroyed everything that the Guild had worked for years. He had taken the life of a man that the Guild had looked to as a mentor. Arsha felt no guilt as she slit Mercer Frey’s throat in one quick movement, his lifeblood spilling onto the stone floor.

Quickly, Arsha sifted through Mercer’s pockets and stole the Eyes along with the Skeleton Key and a nice pile of gold. She also bent down and snatched Mercer’s dwarven sword.

She stood up and looked for Karliah and Brynjolf. They were standing near the door still. Brynjolf was on his knees with his head in his hands. Karliah was standing over him, her swords held limply at her sides. “Karliah,” Arsha called up, “It’s over. Mercer is dead. We need to find a way out!” As she spoke the floor rumbled and chunks of the ceiling crashed down around her. Water began to rush into the room. Karliah and Brynjolf teetered on the edge of the cliff and then Brynjolf pitched forward as the ground shook again and more water rushed in raising the water level almost to the ledge. Arsha swam towards him and pulled him up when he went under.

Now, the ledge was under water as well as most of the statue. More of the rock ceiling came crashing down and Arsha thought she saw a glimpse of a cave above the statue’s head, but there was no way to reach it.

“We have to stay afloat until the water is high enough for us to reach that cave!” she yelled over the roar of water and falling rocks.

“Agreed!” Karliah shouted back before a chunk of the ceiling fell and caused a wave to pull the dark ef under the water.

Arsha swam toward the cave as the water rose, but falling rocks and debris hindered her progress. She was pushed under the water a few times, but she fought her way to the surface. Eventually, she made her way to the cave. The water was pouring in and the small space would be filled before too long. Arsha waited anxiously for Brynjolf and Karliah to appear as the water licked at her boots, steadily rising to cover the toes. Suddenly, Karliah’s head broke out of the water at the edge of the cave. Arsha jumped back in and pulled Karliah onto dry ground, although it wasn’t likely to stay that way for much longer. Karliah nodded her thanks and sat down to catch her breath.

“Karliah, where is Brynjolf?” Arsha heard the note of panic in her own voice.

“He was right behind me. He’s a strong swimmer.” Karliah’s voice was not as reassuring as her words.

“Get out of this cave, Karliah. Take the Key and the Eyes. Don’t wait for us for too long.” Arsha shoved the objects into the startled dark elf’s hands. Karliah opened her mouth to protest, but Arsha had already jumped back into the churning water.

As she jumped into the water she cast a hasty water breathing spell. The magic was weak. She only had a short amount of time to find Brynjolf and make it back. Arsha scanned the murky water desperately, thankful that her elven eyes were able to make out shapes in the gloom. There! Brynjolf was floating in the middle of the water and he wasn’t moving. Rocks were still falling from the ceiling, crashing into the water around her. She swam towards Brynjolf, narrowly missing being crushed. She reached him and cast a hurried spell, the golden light enveloping the unconscious nord, healing him slightly.

Determinedly, Arsha wrapped her arms around Brynjolf and started to swim. Brynjolf’s weight slowed her down and made it harder to dodge the falling rocks, but she continued on, suffering a few painful scrapes along the way. The water breathing spell that she had cast ran out when they were halfway there. She kept swimming. She felt a trickle of her magicka return and she was about to cast another water breathing spell when she glanced at Brynjolf. Quickly, she changed spells and healed Brynjolf again. Her vision was starting to blur now, but she was almost at the cave. With her last ounce of strength, she pushed Brynjolf as far into the tunnel as she could. It was mostly underwater now and she wasn’t sure that she could make it to the end before blacking out. She was about to give up when a pair of hands pulled her out of the water. She broke the surface gasping. Karliah was standing in front of her, her posture concerned.

“I thought I told you to wait outside,” Arsha said in a weak voice that was followed by a coughing for as she tried to expel any water from her lungs.

“You were taking too long so I decided to see if I could help.” Karliah shrugged in an elegant movement of her shoulders.

“Thank you, Karliah.”

Arsha turned her attention to Brynjolf who was still unconscious on the ground next to her. “We need to get a fire going. He needs warmth.” Karliah nodded and led the way outside. The cave opened onto a lake of ice. Across the lake, there were a few trees where they could make a fire. Arsha pointed to the clump of trees and Karliah nodded. Arsha turned around and headed back to the cave. She bent down next to Brynjolf.

She wrapped her arms around his limp figure and sat him up slowly. He groaned and began to stir. “Brynjolf, we need to get to the other side of this lake.” Arsha began to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he insisted coldly as he shrugged off her hands. He wobbled to his feet. He stumbled a few steps and nearly fell, but Karliah caught him and draped one of his arms across her shoulders. The two of them limped out of the cave together. Watching Brynjolf willing accept Karliah’s aid sent spikes of jealousy through Arsha. Karliah would never have feelings for anyone except Gallus, but that didn't change the fact that Arsha wished that she was the one Brynjolf willingly leaned upon.

Arsha had known that Brynjolf would hate her. She had told him anyway. With a deep sigh, she followed her companions into the night.

Brynjolf limped along the ice, leaning on Karliah for support. When they reached the cluster of trees Karliah leaned him up against one and then went off in search of firewood. Brynjolf just sat there, dazed. Mercer was dead. It was all over, and yet he didn’t feel the triumph he felt he should. Something was missing. Something important.

Through the snow, Brynjolf could make out a figure. It got closer and he realized that the figure was Arsha. Looking at her sent so many different emotions running through him that he didn’t know what to think. He was angry beyond description with her for not telling him that she was the Dragonborn. He was angry at her for simply being the Dragonborn. She seemed to be favoring her right leg, and Brynjolf found himself wondering if Mercer had injured her when they had been fighting. A spike of concern went through him before he reminded himself just who he was concerned about. Arsha was a monster; she didn’t deserve his concern. He watched as Arsha took the firewood from Karliah, set it ablaze, and then walked off into the snowy night all with the same empty look in her eyes.

Karliah sat in the snow across from him on the other side of the fire. Brynjolf could feel her piercing gaze on him, searching him for something. “What is it, lass?” he sighed in a weary voice.

Karliah hesitated before answering, “Arsha went to find us food. Ours was ruined by the water.” Brynjolf could tell that wasn’t what Karliah had wanted to say, but he didn’t ask. He was too tired, in fact, he was going to sleep. His head nodded and in a few seconds, he was out.

He dreamed that a warm glow had enveloped him soothing all of his pains. His head throbbed less and the cuts and scrapes on his arm closed. It felt unbelievable. Then he snapped awake to see Arsha kneeling in front of him with a golden light pulsing from her open hands. He scrambled backward away from the magic, away from Arsha, away from the woman who had tortured him. He took a deep breath to steady his racing heartbeat. It was healing magic, not fire. He was fine. Arsha was standing over him with her hands out, continuing to heal him, obviously not noticing his panic. Brynjolf wouldn’t let her see his terror. He looked up at her keeping his eyes devoid of any emotion. Arsha turned sharply around and walked back to her seat next to the fire. Her face was emotionless, but Brynjolf could sense tears hiding in her eyes.

Arsha turned toward Karliah. “We need to get out of this weather,” she stated and her voice was so flat and empty that she didn’t sound like Arsha at all. “There is an inn nearby called the Nightgate Inn. We could head there in the morning.”

“I agree. We need to get somewhere warm, but in this snow, we would never make it tonight. Heading off in the morning sounds good.” Karliah replied. Then she looked at Brynjolf.

“Aye, tomorrow sounds good,” he said. His voice sounded weak even in his own ears. Karliah looked at him, her eyes softened in concern. “I’m fine, lass. Don’t wor- ow!” he winced as his head brushed the tree he was leaning on. Arsha was at his side in a flash. She gently pulled down his hood. The cold air ruffled and parted his hair exposing an ugly gash running along the top of his head. Brynjolf shivered despite his nordic blood. Pieces of ice stung at his wound, and his vision started to blur as the pain in his head became almost unbearable. The last thing he heard was Arsha urgently tell Karliah that they needed to go, now. Then he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? As always, I really appreciate responses. Let me know what your favorite, or least favorite, part was? What would you have done differently? (I sound like my English teacher...)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings. Feelings everywhere.

Arsha fought against the harsh Skyrim wind, each step made even more difficult by the unconscious form she carried in her arms. Even in sleep, Brynjolf looked like he was in pain. His features were tightly drawn, and his brow gleamed with sweat despite the frigid temperature. The sight made Arsha’s feet quicken, despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to get Brynjolf out of this weather and somewhere warm. In her haste, however, she stumbled over an unseen rock and barely kept herself and Brynjolf from falling.

“Arsha, stop! You won’t be doing Brynjolf any favors if you collapse while carrying him!” Karliah shouted over the roar of the wind. Arsha obeyed reluctantly and laid Brynjolf against a tree that would hopefully shelter him from the wind. As she did, every muscle in her body seemed to sigh in relief. Brynjolf was not a small person and carrying him was difficult, even with Karliah holding their weapons and supplies.

After a few seconds, Arsha’s breathing became less labored, and she worked up enough strength to call upon her magicka reserves. The familiar warmth of a healing spell flowed through her, repairing her torn muscles and giving them a new strength. She could make it to the inn. Arsha cast the spell once more, draining the last of her magicka, before gathering Brynjolf in her arms and setting off through the snow once more. She faintly heard Karliah stand and follow her.

After what seemed like a century, Arsha saw the lights of the Nightgate Inn in the distance. Arsha had stopped feeling the pain in her muscles an hour ago, having shut everything from her mind except the faint sound of Brynjolf’s unsteady breath and the feeling of her feet hitting solid ground. The sight of the inn, however, brought all feeling rushing back to her at once. Arsha grit her teeth against the pain and continued on. She would not stop now, not when she was so close to giving Brynjolf the shelter and warmth he needed.

They finally reached the inn, and Karliah pushed open the door. Warmth flooded the frozen Nightingales and Arsha dimly felt her muscles begin to thaw. Her concern, however, was Brynjolf, as she hurriedly stepped inside.

Arsha strode towards the startled innkeeper. No doubt they were quite a strange sight. All in black, with one man unconscious and bleeding, being carried by a woman and another woman laden with weapons. “We need three rooms,” Arsha said in a clear voice, hoping to break the innkeeper out of his daze. Thankfully, it worked.

“Of course. Get the man on a bed and then we can worry about payment,” the innkeeper said, with a nod towards Brynjolf’s battered figure.

Arsha bowed her head gratefully before rushing into the nearest room and placing Brynjolf on the bed as gently as she could. As soon as the nord was out of her arms and onto the bed, Arhsa felt a blinding wave of pain sweep over her. Carrying Brynjolf all that way had taken a toll on her body. Arsha forcefully pushed any pain she felt to the back of her mind; she could deal with that later.

After stepping out of the room to pay the innkeeper, Arsha collected her weapons from Karliah and set them by the bed in her own room. A bed she wasn’t planning on using. Then she returned to Brynjolf’s room and knelt at the side of his bed. She held out her hands and called upon her magicka. Warm, golden light pooled in her hands as she began to heal the nord in front of her. It would be a long process.

When Brynjolf awoke, he was in an unfamiliar place. The air was warm, and he could faintly hear the merry crackling of a fire. The room smelled like sweet mead. He must be at an inn somewhere, most likely the Nightgate Inn that Arsha was talking about. But how had he gotten here? He couldn’t remember.

Brynjolf looked around the cozy room and his eyes fell on a figure near the foot of his bed, sitting in a chair. It took him a moment to realize that that figure was Arsha, asleep in what had to be the most uncomfortable position Brynjolf had ever seen. The only way she would have managed to actually sleep like that was if she had passed out from exhaustion.

As if she could feel his eyes on her, Arsha awoke with a start, a small groan of pain escaping her lips that Brynjolf barely heard. Then her eyes fell on him, sitting up in the bed, looking at her expressionlessly. She instantly straightened and stood. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion, making them look more like solid pieces of amber rather than part of a living being. She dipped her head to him before striding out the door. As she walked away, Brynjolf noticed that she was limping slightly. Once again, he felt a strange rush of emotions too complicated for him to untangle in his exhausted state.

Brynjolf fell back onto his pillow. The contact made him groan in pain. His head was throbbing, but when he raised his hand to probe gently at the wound, he found that the gash was almost completely closed. He was so focused on how that could be possible that he didn’t even hear the door swing open and then closed again softly.

“She’s been healing you almost all day,” a soft voice beside Brynjolf whispered. Brynjolf jumped and nearly fell off the bed. He glanced over and saw that it was Karliah who had spoken. He looked at her questioningly. Brynjolf didn’t know what time it was, but he had a feeling that all day was a very long time.

“After you blacked out, Arsha carried you here. It took us at least three hours to get here with the storm, but she only stopped to rest when I ordered her to. The instant we got to the inn, Arsha laid you in here, paid for our rooms, and then knelt by your side and began to heal you,” Karliah explained. Brynjolf didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it. How had Arsha managed to carry him here through the storm and heal him afterward? She must have been exhausted.

“As soon as Arsha had paid for our rooms, I slept. It was around noon when I finally woke up,” Brynjolf nodded in understanding. The last few days had been harsh and they all needed a good sleep. “I walked into your room a few minutes later to bring you a bowl of soup and found that Arsha was still kneeling by your side, healing you. It was obvious that she had been there all morning. She looked exhausted. Her eyelids were flickering, her arms were shaking, and her magic was unsteady, but she kept healing you. It was a few minutes before she even noticed that I was there. I handed her the soup and she ate it quickly before going back to healing you. She completely depleted herself about an hour ago. It’s almost eight now.”

Brynjolf was amazed. That awe quickly turned to suspicion though. What game was Arsha playing with him? When she had held him captive, her healing had always been followed by even more pain. What did she have planned for him now? Brynjolf narrowed his eyes; he refused to fall for any of the Dragonborn’s traps. Never again.

“Brynjolf,” this time Karliah’s voice was softer and tinged with pain as she spoke, pulling from his thoughts. “I can’t claim to understand the dark past that the two of you share, but I do know that you can’t let that past ruin your chance at a better future. I couldn’t save Gallus from his dark fate, but you can save Arsha from hers.”

“And what fate would that be?” Brynjolf asked with a scoff. The woman was both a hero and a villain, but she had a place in Sovngarde thanks to her dragon blood. Even with all the evil she had done, she would be rewarded. The thought made Brynjolf sick.

“That is not for me to tell, Brynjolf,” the dark elf said simply and then disappeared from the room just as quietly as she had appeared.

Brynjolf stared at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of everything. Even thinking of Arsha sent an overwhelming flood of emotions pouring over him. He slowly started to unravel those feelings and found something surprising. The thought of Arsha no longer being in his life left him feeling empty. He couldn’t imagine the Guild without her. And yet the thought of the Dragonborn being anywhere near him without him plunging a dagger into her heart was impossible. How could one woman have such an opposing effect on his life? Brynjolf sighed wearily as his brain moved to another topic that bothered him. The kiss.

Arsha had kissed him right before she showed him who she really was. He had thought that she had only been trying to cause him even more pain by leading him on only to let him down. She had strung him along and made him feel as if he was important to her, made him feel as if he was needed. And yet, Brynjolf had felt something in that kiss. It had felt so tender, so real. Brynjolf had sensed a strange wistfulness coming from Arhsa, as well as an air of acceptance. She had even apologized for the kiss. It was as if Arsha had known exactly what his reaction would be. So why did she take her mask off anyway? Why did she cause him so much pain when she could have stayed hidden? Why?

Brynjolf was still contemplating those questions when Karliah returned sometime later with a steaming bowl of soup in her hands. Brynjolf took it gratefully and ate it slowly, savoring every bite. It seemed like it had been ages since he had last enjoyed a good meal in safety. When he had finished, he set the bowl on the bedside table and laid back against his pillows contentedly. His head still ached, but it didn’t bother him as much as he knew it should. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, considering the source of the healing. He pushed those thoughts back and with a satisfied sigh, Brynjolf closed his eyes and drifted off into the realm of sleep, on purpose this time.

Brynjolf woke from his peaceful slumber just in time to see Arsha slump over, completely exhausted. He didn’t think as he leaped forward and caught her as she fell towards his bed. She must have been standing by his side healing him again. How long had she been there? Brynjolf shook his head and laid her on his bed, not knowing why he was helping the woman who had caused him so much pain. He pulled the covers over her before sitting down in the chair that Arsha has occupied when he had woken the first time. Arsha looked so peaceful as she slept, her chest rising and falling with every steady breath. Brynjolf wondered if she was truly at peace, considering everything.

It was about two hours later that Arsha woke. Her eyes shot open, her body went rigid, and her breathing sped up. Brynjolf could tell that she was scared and he was at her side immediately. “You passed out from healing me about two hours ago, so I laid you here.” Brynjolf didn’t add the fact that he wasn’t certain why he had done that. His emotions were still rather tangled, and he didn’t feel like trying to unravel them any further right now.

The instant he stopped speaking, Arsha’s eyes hardened once more into unfeeling amber. “I apologize for causing you inconvenience. I will leave you to your rest.” Arsha’s voice was completely devoid of any emotion, even the exhaustion that was evident in the droop of shoulders. Brynjolf decided right then that he needed answers and trapped Arsha’s arms by her side.

“Brynjolf-” Arsha started to say, but Brynjolf shushed her. He carefully pushed her hood down and removed her mask, gazing intently at her elven features. There were deep bags under her eyes and even her pointed ears seemed to droop with weariness.

“You aren’t sleeping enough,” Brynjolf observed in a matter of fact voice. “You’re spending time and energy healing me. Why? What do you have planned for me?”

Arsha was silent for a long time, gazing at Brynjolf with a pained look of sadness in her amber eyes. Eventually, she closed them and lowered her head. “Nothing. I have nothing planned for you. I know that you don’t believe me, but I don’t want to hurt you. I’m doing what I can to try and make up for all of the wrongs I’ve committed against you. I know that nothing I do will ever be enough,” her quiet voice was broken as she spoke.

Brynjolf froze. How could she say that? This was likely some kind of sick game to her and she was simply a good actor. After all, the Dragonborn was famed for being able to make anyone believe whatever she wanted them to believe. A small voice in the back of Brynjolf’s head urged him to reserve judgment. He decided to listen to that voice. For now.

A tear tracked its way down Arsha’s elegant face. “The less you see of me, the better,” Arsha voice was even softer when she continued. “I cannot let the sight of me be the reason that you are in pain.”

Brynjolf had to swallow a lump of emotion that had formed in his throat before he managed to whisper, “Then why did you take off your mask? Why didn’t you remain hidden?” It would have saved them both so much pain.

Arsha looked down again, her golden hair falling to cover her eyes. Her voice was almost inaudible as she said, “You deserved to know, Brynjolf. I couldn’t keep lying to you. Not when I-” Arsha cut off abruptly and turned away.

Brynjolf caught her arm as she spun, stopping her from leaving. “Lass?” Brynjolf didn’t even know what he was asking for. He felt… something, but he didn’t dare give it a name.

“I apologize for disturbing your rest. Sleep, it will help your wound just as much as my magic does,” Arsha stated as she pulled on her masks, both physical and emotional. Brynjolf watched as she walked out of the room, leaving Brynjolf feeling even more confused than he had been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Poor Brynjolf is so confused right now. That really wasn't very nice of me, was it? *evil laughter* Thank you to everyone who commented on my last chapter and thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far! We've almost reached the end.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more feelings and a few important thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't very long, but I hope it's enough to keep you lovely readers going. Enjoy!

‘What had she been thinking?’ Arsha wondered to herself as she fled from Brynjolf’s presence. She had almost told him how she felt. She had almost admitted the fact that she couldn’t lie to him because she loved him. That she couldn’t stand being the one who hurt him because he had given her so much joy. That she would rather wander Nirn alone for the rest of her life than to be with anyone other than him. Those were words she could never say aloud. She had already caused him too much pain. She would not add guilt on to that. Brynjolf would never love her, and even if he ever did, she would still have to leave him. She was dangerous and he deserved someone better.

Arsha flung the door to her small room open and quickly gathered her things from where they were lying. She looked around the room one more time to make sure that there were no signs of her presence left. She didn’t bother making sure the bed was made; she hadn’t slept in it at all. Satisfied, she left the room, her bow and a small traveling bag, skeleton key tucked safely inside, slung on her back and her daggers hanging at her sides.

Her hand was on the doorknob when she felt a presence behind her. She whirled around to find Karliah standing behind her. Arsha tensed up, expecting the other elf to try and stop her from leaving, but when Karliah spoke it wasn’t to argue.

“I’m not going to try and stop you, Arsha. I know that would be pointless,” Karliah stated in her soft voice. Arsha nodded gratefully. She had made her choice and wasn’t in the mood to argue. “I’m here to thank you.”

Arsha tilted her head, confused. She had done nothing to deserve any thanks. All she had managed to accomplish were pitiful attempts to try and redeem herself somehow. And she had failed.

“You are going to the Twilight Sepulcher, a place I cannot bring myself to enter. I can’t face Lady Nocturnal yet.” Karliah looked down towards the ground, in shame. “You have more than paid back any debt you feel you owed the Guild, Arsha.”

It was Arsha’s turn to look away. It wasn’t to the Guild that she owed any debts, those had been cleared with Mercer’s death. Her debts were to Brynjolf, and this was the last thing she was going to do to help pay them. After this, she would disappear.

Karliah seemed to sense her thoughts. “He will learn to forgive you, Arsha.”

Arsha shook her head. “Maybe he will forgive me for what I did to him, although he shouldn’t. Maybe he will be willing to see past the lies I told, but even then I would still leave. He cannot forgive me completely because he doesn’t know the extent of my crimes. No one does. I am a monster, Karliah. His life will be brighter without me.”

Karliah didn’t respond for a long moment, then she gave a nod. “Thank you, Arsha. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” Arsha relied in a solemn tone. This was the end. Then she opened the door and stepped into the frozen night.

Brynjolf woke from his dreams. He couldn’t remember what exactly the dream had been about but the strange sense of urgency lingered. Feeling somewhat stupid for acting on a feeling, Brynjolf stood from his bed and left his room.

The common area was empty, and even the bartender seemed to have disappeared. The last embers of the fire crackled in the hearth, giving off barely enough heat to warm the space. Brynjolf knew that it must be sometime in the early hours of the morning. So why was he awake? Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Brynjolf turned to head back into his room. His hand was on the door, about to push it open, when a strange urge to check on Arsha washed over him. The part of him that insisted that he didn’t care about the wellbeing of the woman who had tortured him was shrinking at an alarming rate.

Brynjolf walked over to the door of the room he thought might be Arsha’s, careful to keep his footsteps silent so he didn’t disturb her. He paused outside the door for a few moments before pushing it open as silently as he could and was met with an unexpected sight.

Instead of finding Arsha peacefully asleep or even tossing and turning in a nightmare, the room was empty. In fact, there wasn’t even any proof that she had ever been there. A sudden sense of urgency flooded him, and Brynjolf strode over to the next room in three steps, flinging the door open without ceremony.

Karliah was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. She didn’t look up when he barged in. She didn’t even flinch. “Karliah,” Brynjolf growled, “where is she?” There were more emotions in his voice than he cared to count.

Karliah didn’t look up from the floor as she responded in a flat voice. “She’s gone and she isn’t coming back.”

Brynjolf’s heart stopped. Arsha couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t have just left. And yet the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. “What do you mean?” Brynjolf’s voice was dangerously quiet.

A small sigh escaped Karliah’s lips as she stood from her bed, finally looking Brynjolf in the eyes. “Arsha is taking the Skeleton Key back to where it belongs in the Twilight Sepulcher. She isn’t going to return to the Guild,” Karliah’s voice got softer as she continued, “I doubt she plans to stay in Skyrim.”

For a few moments, Brynjolf was frozen, unable to comprehend what Karliah had said. Then it came crashing down on him. “You let her go. You let her leave! Why, Karliah?” Brynjolf demanded. The words came tumbling out before his brain had a chance to think about them.

Karliah shook her head, unaffected by Brynjolf’s anger. “That was not my decision to make, and you know it. She made her choice, and she made it for you.”

“For me? How does her leaving do anything for me?” Other than hurt him. Brynjolf was surprised by how much it did hurt. How could she have just left? He hadn’t even had time to try and sort things out, Talos, he hadn’t had time to decide if he wanted to try and sort things out.

“It protects you. Arsha knows she’s hurt you in the past, she feared that if she stayed then she would only hurt you again.”

Suddenly, everything that Arsha had done made sense. The reason why she had never fought back against his coldness towards her, the reason she had taken his scorn, the reason she had healed him before herself. She had put his well being ahead of hers in an attempt to repay him for the past.

As soon as that thought appeared, another one pushed it away. This was an act, it had to be. Why would the Dragonborn actually care about anyone? She couldn’t care. It didn’t make any sense, and yet, what else could it be?

A determination flashed within him. He had to find Arsha. If he let her disappear, he would never be able to find her again, and the thought of letting her slip away without resolving… whatever this was was strangely painful. “Where is the Twilight Sepulcher?” he asked, a plan already forming in his mind. Karliah answered with the location, looking confused.

“What are you going to do?” she asked warily.

Brynjolf turned toward the door as he answered. He wasn’t going to waste any more time than he already had. “I’m going after Arsha. I won’t let her disappear, Karliah. I can’t,” Brynjolf stated solemnly. “I need you to go back to the Guild and tell them that Mercer is dead. Bring Delvin the Eyes.”

Brynjolf felt Karliah’s hand on his shoulder. “Be careful Brynjolf. I will meet you at the Sepulcher as soon as I can.”

Brynjolf nodded gratefully and then he was gone. There was no time to waste.

Arsha pushed the door to the Bannered Mare open wearily. She hadn’t stopped walking since she had left Nightgate Inn in the early hours of the morning. Right now all she felt like doing was sleeping, possibly forever.

The innkeeper showed her to her room, the same room she had rented last time she had been here, and then left her alone. As soon as the door closed, Arsha flung her weapons and her bag into one corner and collapsed on the bed. It was far from the most comfortable bed she had ever slept on, but to her tired body, it was as if she were lying on a cloud.

She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh that was weighted with more emotions than she could be bothered to count in her tired state. She tried to sleep, but despite how much her body craved rest, her mind wouldn’t give it to her. A chapter of her life had just ended, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. She was sad of course. The past few months had been wonderful and despite everything that had been going on, she had felt happy. Leaving that behind was painful. And yet, there was a strange sense of relief as well. Now that Arsha had left Brynjolf, and everyone else in the Guild, behind, she didn’t have to worry about them being hurt by her or her past. That thought left her feeling somewhat empty as if the lack of the Guild in her life was a hole that she could no longer feel. The prevailing emotion, however, was a bittersweet peace. Arsha’s mind finally began to slow down, and she drifted off to sleep with a single tear tracing its way down her masked face and a sad smile on her hidden lips.

Brynjolf trudged through the snow, the icy wind biting at his face. He didn’t even feel the pain. His mind was completely consumed by the need to reach Arsha as fast as he possibly could. It was noon, and if he kept at his current pace he should reach Whiterun by the time the sun set. He just had to pray that that was where Arsha was. And that he wouldn’t be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was honestly more of a filler chapter than anything else. I'm not feeling super inspired lately... I had one ending to this story planned for ages but now I'm thinking it's going to go a different way. I just don't know anymore. Sigh.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for the lovely comments I've received!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf and Arsha both end up in Whiterun.

Brynjolf could barely keep one foot in front of the other as he stumbled through the gates of Whiterun. It was around eight o’clock, the sun having set over an hour ago. The journey had taken longer than Brynjolf had expected as his feet had slowed, despite his best efforts to keep that from happening.

He reached the door to the inn and pushed it open wearily, immediately seeking out the innkeeper. “Sorry, someone took the last room around lunch. I should have one open tomorrow though,” was the woman’s response when Brynjolf asked for a room. He groaned inwardly, it was just his luck that the inn would be full. Trying to sound more awake than he felt, Brynjolf bought some food before walking back into the darkening night.

For a few moments, he stood in front of the inn, trying to decide what to do. He entertained the idea of breaking into someone’s house and sleeping there, but in his exhausted state he would most likely be caught. A few more moments went by and his eyelids became even heavier. Then he remembered something. The Dragonborn had a house in Whiterun, Breezehome.

Brynjolf nearly fell against the door as he tried to pull his lockpicks out of one of the small pockets of his armor. He tried again and managed to grasp one of the picks. Somehow, he opened the door and stumbled inside. He barely succeeded in making it to one of the upstairs beds before he collapsed.

When Arsha finally woke from her deep sleep, the inn was alive with noise. Grabbing her weapons and supplies, she headed downstairs to get some food and find out what time it was. Hopefully, she hadn’t slept too long.

As it turned out, she had slept for almost twenty hours. It was now around nine in the morning, and the streets were full of people buying and selling, conversing and bickering, laughing and selling. Arsha mingled among the crowd for a while, buying food from one stall and stocking up on potions at the alchemy shop. As she moved, Arsha watched the people around her. They seemed so content with their simple lives. Not worried about the appearances they put up, except for Nazeem of course. Perhaps when Arsha left Skyrim, after she returned the Skeleton Key, she would be able to become like these people. A small voice in the back of her mind laughed at that thought. She would never be able to be normal, and even if she could, it would bore her to death. Arsha shook her head and pushed those thoughts back. She could deal with them later.

Shouldering her bag, now full of provisions and potions, once more, Arsha set down the path to the gates of Whiterun. There was no sense in staying any longer than was necessary. It was only noon, and she could travel plenty before night fell. As she passed the home she owned, she gave it a small nod of respect. She would never again return here. Then she pushed open the gates and strode out of the city.

When Brynjolf woke up, he was in the process of falling. Before he could catch himself, he hit the hard wooden floor. He uttered a low groan and rubbed the back of his now aching head. For a few moments, he was confused as to where he was. Then he remembered. He was in Whiterun looking for Arsha. He barely finished the thought before he was on his feet and walking out the door, into the bright light of day.

He strode down the path to the market, keeping a sharp eye for a certain elf dressed in dark leathers. He bought a few provisions and stocked up on lockpicks at the general goods store, asking each person if they had seen Arsha. Finally, the woman who owned one of the stalls in the market had some information for him. “A woman dressed in black, glass daggers and a bow? She was here about an hour ago. Bought almost all of my produce. She said something about going on a long journey. I asked her where she was going, but she didn’t seem to hear me,” the woman recounted as Brynjolf listened intently.

“Thank you, ma’am.”. Brynjolf gave the woman a nod and turned away to leave when she spoke again.

“May I ask why you are looking for her?”

Brynjolf didn’t turn around, but he did answer her, saying, “I don’t know, but I need to find her to figure it out.” The woman didn’t say anything, but Brynjolf could almost hear her nod. He walked away without looking back, his steps hurried. Arsha wasn’t far ahead of him, which meant he had a chance to catch up to her.

Arsha walked along the path, deep in thought. Her mind flitted from one memory to the next in a random order. She saw her life before Skyrim. She saw her parents and the life she had led. Then her mind jumped to High Hrothgar, not long after the Greybeards had taken her in and recognized her as Dragonborn. Then her mind jumped again. And again. Arsha didn’t know how much time had passed; she was barely aware of her surroundings, but she found she didn’t care.

She was lost in one of her earlier memories when she had been barely twenty years old and still lived with her parents on the Summerset Isles. Those years had been some of the happiest of her life. She had been blissfully unaware of the corruption that existed within her country, within her own home. It was during those years that she had discovered her affinity for magic. The happy memory was yanked from her as she heard the sound of wings.

A shadow covered the path, and when Arsha looked up, she saw an orange scaled dragon descending from the sky. She had gone almost five years without a dragon incident, but now there had been two in the space of a few days!

The dragon landed in front of her, and Arsha barely had time to draw her bow before a blast of icy breath billowed towards her. Arsha grumbled under her breath as she leaped to the side, narrowly avoiding the ice. All dragons were difficult to fight, especially alone, but dragons who used ice shouts were the worst. The cold affected her elven body much more than the heat of flames ever could.

She fired a few arrows into the dragon’s scaly wings, but most of them bounced off. Arsha sighed inwardly and fired three more arrows before rolling out of the way as the dragon turned toward her and breathed out ice with a ground-shaking shout. Arsha opened her mouth to shout, but the breath was knocked out of her as the dragon’s tail collided with her and sent her crashing to the rocky ground.

Frigid cold and ice rolled over her as she failed to move fast enough to avoid the dragon’s next shout. For a few blissful moments she felt nothing, the cold numbing her completely, but then the pain set in causing her to cry out. Her pain turned to rage and a shout ripped from her throat. “Yol Toor Shul!” The flames enveloped the dragon and the creature roared in pain. Arsha took advantage of the dragon’s distraction and fired as many arrows into it as she could. She could tell that the dragon was almost dead, however, it wasn’t done fighting yet.

The dragon lashed out, its teeth snapping. Arsha dodged out of the way, but thanks to the cold that she could still feel, her movements were slower than usual. The dragon’s teeth scraped down her back and legs, ripping through her armor easily. For a few moments, Arsha saw only red. Through the pain, Arsha managed to draw one of her daggers, she had dropped her bow and plunged it in between two scales on the dragon’s orange snout. The dragon roared in pain again, thrashing as it died. Finally, the dragon stilled, it’s body consumed by flames as Arsha absorbed its soul.

The rush of power that washed over her was intoxicating. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling. Then the pain hit her again and she stumbled back, a cry escaping her as she fell. She tried to summon her magika to heal herself, but the pain overwhelmed her ability to concentrate. Arsha thought she heard a voice call her name, but then everything faded to black as her consciousness fled to escape the pain.

Brynjolf heard a roar. The sound was distant, but he recognized it instantly. There was a dragon on the road ahead of him. The same road that Arsha must be on. Brynjolf’s eyes widened and he broke into a full on sprint. Arsha was alone and facing a dragon. That was something no one should have to do.

Another roar shook the ground, and Brynjolf stumbled, almost falling. The sound seemed to be one of pain, and Brynjolf silently wondered which shout Arsha had used to cause the dragon that much pain. A shiver of fear jolted down his spine, but he ignored it and ran even faster, focused on the sounds of the battle that was drawing closer. The next shout he heard came from Arsha and not the dragon. Her voice was powerful, shaking the ground just as the dragon’s shout had done.

The next sound Brynjolf heard turned his blood to ice. A woman, undoubtedly Arsha, let out an ear piercing scream of pain and time seemed to slow down. This was the woman who had scarred him forever, who haunted his dreams even when he was awake. This was the monster who had laughed at his pain as she carved twisted patterns into his skin. That scream should make him feel nothing but joy. After all, the Dragonborn was finally getting what she deserved. He felt none of that. The only thing he felt was fear, fear for Arsha, not the Dragonborn. He yelled her name as she crumpled to the ground in an unmoving heap.

Brynjolf fell to his knees beside Arsha. Her armor looked as pristine as ever, but he knew by now that that was only an illusion. He lifted her limp body into his arms as gently as he could, but Arsha still let out a pained sound. Praying to the DIvines that he wasn’t making anything worse, he carried Arsha to the stream that ran next to the road, setting her down softly on the grass.

“Lass, I need to take off your armor to tend to your wounds,” Brynjolf knew that Arsha couldn’t hear him, but he spoke to her in a soothing tone anyway. If he was honest with himself, it was more for his own state of mind than for hers.

He unbuckled the straps of Arsha’s armor, grateful that the design was similar to the Guild armor. Every time he undid one of the latches, a pained groan came from Arsha. Brynjolf apologized softly, working as carefully as he could. He turned her over to where her back was facing up, it seemed to be what had been damaged the most. The sight that met his eyes, however, was something he was not ready for.

Three jagged cuts ran all the way down her back, blood still seeping from them at an alarming rate, coloring Arsha’s golden skin red. As Brynjolf carefully wiped away as much as the blood as he could, wincing in sympathy at every groan that came from Arsha, he noticed something. Between her shoulder blades was an area of burned skin. Burned skin in the shape of a dragon. A flood of questions entered his mind, but Brynjolf forced them aside. Right now, he needed to focus on healing Arsha.

Despite everything she had done, Brynjolf couldn’t leave her like this. If she died, he would never be able to unravel the threads of emotion and tension that entangled the two of them. Whether he liked it or not, he and Arsha were connected.

As the extent of the damage became more evident, Brynjolf’s hopes of being able to heal Arsha sank lower and lower. He was no healer; he had no idea what to do. He continued to clean her wounds, occasionally pouring healing potions onto them and doing the best he could. Every time he did, Arsha cried out.

Eventually, there was nothing else he could do. Tearing up one of the blankets he had brought along, he bound Arsha’s wounds as best he could, offering a prayer to every Divine as he worked. “Divines, please don’t let her die. She can’t die! Not yet…” Brynjolf bowed his head. He couldn’t even explain why, but tears were tracking their way down his cheeks. He was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry for that little cliffy, but then I'd be lying. *evil laughter* Once again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story so far. I read and love them all! You guys are amazing for sticking with me! Originally, this story was only supposed to have 30 chapters, but the characters just wouldn't let me stop writing.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the beginning of the serious revision. Claimed used to go very sappy and fluffy from here on out, now, that isn't quite the case. I hope you enjoy the changes, though. I think this version is much better than the old one was.

Night closed in and the temperature dropped. Brynjolf had built a fire by that time, but he could barely feel its warmth. Arsha still hadn’t woken. Thankfully, her wounds had closed significantly and her heartbeat was steady. That did little to ease his fears though.

He gently lifted Arsha into his arms and moved closer to the fire. He had seen when they had been travelling to Irkngthand how severely the cold affected her. A pang of regret ran through him at the memory. She had been trying to warm herself with her flames, but when she had looked over at him she had instantly shut them off. He realized now that it was because of the pain she had felt she was causing him.

A part of him still whispered that this was all a lie. It was the same part that told him to leave and save himself before the woman in his arms could cause him any more pain. Brynjolf shook his head in despair. As much as he hated to admit it, his curiosity outweighed his sense of self preservation. He needed Arsha to wake so that he could finally get some answers from the woman.

Arsha’s elven face was beautiful in the firelight, even though she was in pain. Her features reflected a proud and confident woman, even in sleep. Did she wear that mask constantly? Or did her past not bother her? Was she as heartless as she seemed? Nothing made sense anymore. His ideas of right and wrong were jumbled together, a mess of grey in his mind. Brynjolf closed his eyes, too tired to think any longer. What would come would come.

Arsha felt… warm. The last thing she remembered was feeling as if her very blood had frozen in her veins and an unbearable pain. Now she was comfortably warm and the pain was at a manageable level, which left her with the question of how she had gotten this way.

Opening her eyes, Arsha looked up to see red hair and emerald eyes.

For a few moments, they both stayed still, looking each other in the eyes. Then Arsha looked away, averting her gaze. “Are you alright?” Brynjolf asked. His tone was carefully empty, as if he was concealing his emotions. Arsha didn’t respond verbally, only nodded. “Arsha, look at me,” Brynjolf commanded. This time his tone held something...else.

Arsha looked at Brynjolf, trying to keep the emotion out of her eyes. Why did he have to make this harder on her? Why didn’t he just leave her to die?

Brynjolf met her gaze, his face set in a firm mask of emptiness. Arsha could sense something lurking in his eyes, likely anger at her, but the nord didn’t let it show. “Arsha, don’t hide from me, please,” His voice broke a little on the last word, letting the depth of whatever it was he was feeling show for a brief instant. Arsha sighed internally but obeyed his wish.

“Thank you for caring for me, Brynjolf. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused you,” Arsha said softly, looking down again. Brynjolf didn’t seem to respond, but he did pull her closer to him. He seemed unsure if the action was to shelter her or to keep her from fleeing. Either way, Arsha surrendered herself to him. She deserved whatever punishment he was going to give her. A voice in the back of Arsha’s brain whispered that Brynjolf would do to her what she had done to him those years ago. He had obviously healed her. All that was left for him to do was hurt her. Wasn’t that how revenge worked?

There was silence for a few minutes as Arsha thought about what must have happened. Brynjolf must have found her on the road not long after she had killed the dragon and blacked out. That meant that he had been following her. “Why did you come after me?” she asked, once more looking back up at Brynjolf. His reply was slow in coming.

“I don’t know. There is something between us, something more than the past, and I need answers.” Brynjolf’s voice faded to something barely more than a whisper on the wind. “I’m not sure if I want those answers though.”

Arsha felt tears tracing their way down her cheeks. Brynjolf moved to brush them away, but his hand froze, hovering an inch above her skin. In that movement, Arsha could see Brynjolf’s thoughts. He was lost. The tears came faster now as Arsha realized that Brynjolf didn’t know who she was anymore. He couldn’t tell if she was the horror of his dreams or the thief that he had picked up off the streets or someone else entirely.

Brynjolf looked away from Arsha. The firelight danced across his features and cast a weary shadow over him. Gazing at those emerald eyes and proud face, Arsha realized that she didn’t want to let Brynjolf go. She had convinced herself that leaving him, that leaving Skyrim would be the best thing for the both of them, but that was a lie. Somehow the confusion in the air around them drew them together. Arsha realized she couldn’t leave Brynjolf, not without trying to explain things first.

Arsha shifted to where she was fully facing Brynjolf and stared him in the eye. His face was guarded, but the mask was cracked and she could see the hurt in his eyes. “Ask me a question,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

“What?”

“Ask me something, anything. I can feel the questions in the air around us, Brynjolf. This unresolved… thing. So ask me something about me. About my life or my past or anything. I swear to you that I will answer you truthfully; I cannot lie to you again,” Arsha begged. She hoped she could convey the way that she felt, explain just how much she needed him to understand. Whether he liked what he heard or not, Arsha needed it to be said.

Brynjolf thought for awhile; Arsha could almost see the gears turning in his head. Eventually, he asked, “How did you get the burn on your back? The one in the shape of a dragon.”

Arsha answered the question immediately. “When Alduin attacked Helgen, I was there. I had been arrested for trying to cross the border and was the next person destined for the headsman’s block. Alduin attacked and everyone scattered. As I was escaping, one of Alduin’s shouts hit me. Flames covered my back, but later I realized that only that area had been burned. A wise friend told me that it was in the shape of a dragon because it was my destiny to be the Dragonborn and slay Alduin.”

Brynjolf didn’t say anything, only nodded, his face expressionless once again. Arsha waited for his next question. “Where were you born?”

“The Summerset Isles.”

There was a pause before Brynjolf continued. “Why did you leave?”

Arsha took a few moments longer before answering this one. Leaving her homeland had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, harder even than accepting her destiny as the Dragonborn. “I was exiled. My parents were Altmeri nobility, which meant that I had privileges others in my country did not. I was offered a high rank in the Thalmor and I took it. Eventually, I realized that the Thalmor were killing my country, draining it of everything that it had once stood for. I became a spy for a rebellion intent on destroying the Thalmor, and a very good one at that. I supplied rebel cells with information, stole plans, and assassinated Thalmor leaders. But then I was caught, betrayed by a man who I had trusted with my life. That trust was my downfall. Everyone I associated with who wasn’t a Thalmor was executed while I was forced to watch. It didn’t matter if they were actually a part of the rebellion or not. It was only thanks to my parents’ influence in the government that I was spared the headsman’s axe. Instead I was exiled from the Summerset Isles. I can never again set foot in my homeland.”

Brynjolf continued to ask her questions, and she continued to answer them. She told him about the way she had joined the Dark Brotherhood and risen through its ranks. She told him the of how she had destroyed the Thalmor influence in Skyrim completely. She told him everything that he wanted to know. The good, little though there was, and the bad.

The entire time she spoke, Brynjolf’s face never changed. He wore an expression of deep thought. He never spoke except to ask the next question. But Arsha could see emotions swirling in his eyes that she could not name even if she tried.

Eventually, Brynjolf broke the silence with carefully chosen words. “I have lived for over a decade in fear of you. The physical wounds you left on me may have healed, but my mind didn’t, not really. Then you appeared in my life again as Arsha. The more time I spent with you seeing you accept the Guild as family the way I had, the more of a connection I felt with you. You broke me, but you also pieced me back together,” Brynjolf stated, never looking into Arsha’s eyes. Arsha didn’t speak. Instead, she bowed her head in sorrow. She knew how Brynjolf felt, because that was exactly how she felt. The thief that she had tortured had been the one who had broken her, made her leave behind her old life as the monstrous Dragonborn. Brynjolf had been the one to show her how she could manage this new life she was trying to lead.

Brynjolf looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead he sighed. “Get some sleep, Arsha. You aren’t fully healed yet. Tomorrow we’ll head to the Sepulchre and end this.”

Arsha raised an eyebrow in shock. Brynjolf was going with her to the Sepulchre? It wasn’t exactly a full forgiveness, but it was a start, and despite the fact that she had told herself leaving was the best thing she could do for him, a small part of her began to hope. She shook her head inwardly and sighed lightly before allowing her eyes to drift shut, her exhaustion ensuring that she was fast asleep in a few short minutes.

For a little while, Brynjolf simply watched as the woman in his arms slept. His emotions all seemed dimmed and frozen. He wasn’t angry any longer, as much as he might try to be. He didn’t feel anything else either though.

Hearing some of Arsha’s past had given him a glimpse of what her life must have been like. Nothing excused her actions, which could only be described as evil, but Brynjolf had to admit that her life had sounded lonely. Even surrounded by people she had thought were her friends, she had trusted no one. And yet she had told him of all people her secrets. What did that say of how she felt? Perhaps she was only trying to make amends, but maybe she meant something more by it. Brynjolf shook his head violently and leaned against the tree behind him to sleep.


	32. Chapter 32

The dawn saw Brynjolf stirring slowly from his sleep. The red-haired Nightingale blinked his eyes a few times before the blurriness cleared. When it finally did, Brynjolf looked down only to find that Arsha was no longer asleep in his arms. For a moment, he wondered if history had been repeated and Arsha had left him alone in the woods once again. Then he saw the woman sitting near the road. Her hood was down for once and she held her hands out in front of her, golden light that Brynjolf recognized to be a healing spell in her hands. The sight stirred something in Brynjolf, but he ignored the feeling and began to disassemble the small camp he had made.

Arsha must have heard him move, for she rose from her place by the road and walked over to help him. Her steps were as silent as ever, despite the wounds she bore. They worked in a silence that Brynjolf wasn’t willing to break, although Arsha didn’t seem to mind the quiet. As soon as everything was packed away, they started down the path that would lead them to the Sepulchre.

As they walked, Brynjolf’s mind tumbled between his memories, fears, and the new information Arsha had revealed. He wasn’t ready to forgive the woman for the pain that she had caused him. But he wasn’t angry anymore. He looked over at the woman who was causing him so much turmoil, only to find that Arsha had fallen slightly behind.

A glance told Brynjolf that Arsha was nowhere near as healed as she had let on. Her step was more forceful as if she had to put in more effort each time her foot hit the hard earth. She carried a large bag on her back that couldn’t be helping the wounds that covered her shoulders. Without a word Brynjolf took the pack from her, sliding it carefully off of her shoulders and then swinging it onto his own. Arsha tilted her head like she was about to argue with him, but Brynjolf walked off before she could.

They walked in silence for a while, Brynjolf’s mind swirling with questions he hadn’t asked the night before; deeper, darker questions. Before he could stop himself, one of those questions slipped out of his mouth and into the still air. “When did you find out that I was the one you had-” he cut off the sentence, unwilling to say the word.

Arsha could obviously sense his pain, and although he couldn’t see her, walking behind him as she was, he could imagine the sorrow in her golden eyes. It was an emotion he had seen the most often from her recently. There was a long silence before she replied, saying, “I didn’t know until that day on the way back from the Markarth job. You almost caught me without my mask on, and when you turned around I saw,” her voice dropped to little more than a pained whisper, “I saw the dragon.”

Slowly, some of Arsha’s actions began to make sense to Brynjolf. “That’s why you ran away, isn’t it? You realized who I was.”

“Yes.”

Brynjolf nodded to himself, but then another question popped into his mind. “Why ask me to tell you about my capture then? You knew what had happened.” Had that just been another sick game? But no, Brynjolf still remembered the fear and pain he had seen in Arsha’s eyes as he had recounted the tale. It could have been an act, but why? Why would she go through all that trouble just to fool him?

Arsha’s soft voice drew him from his thoughts. “I had to hear you tell it.” Brynjolf could practically hear the woman shake her head. “I can’t explain, but hearing you confirm it made what I had done more real. It made me truly believe that you were the one who, the one I-” Her voice broke then and Brynjolf could hear her take a deep breath before she said, “I thought about telling you who I was that night, you know? You could have had your justice then. I was injured; it would have been easy to get rid of me.”

“You think I would have killed you?” Brynjolf asked, surprise coloring his voice as he turned around to look at Arsha.

The woman only shrugged and averted her eyes. “It’s what I would have deserved. What I still do deserve.”

Brynjolf stared at her in amazement. He couldn’t believe that this was an act any longer, not when he could hear the pain and resignation in Arsha’s voice. She truly believed that she deserved to die at his hand. Not long ago, Brynjolf would have agreed. Now, however, he wasn’t sure what to think. He shook his head and turned back around.

After a few more hours of walking, the entrance to the Sepulcher became visible in the distance. Brynjolf’s feet quickened at the sight, his body gaining fresh energy now that their goal was close at hand. Glancing back at Arsha, he saw that the woman seemed to be feeling the same way.

Before long, they reached the entrance, which looked similar to the door to the Nightingale Hall. Arsha stepped forward to enter, but Brynjolf stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch but didn’t move away from him.

“Arsha,” he asked, “are you sure you want to do this? You aren’t fully healed yet, and we don’t know what we’ll be facing in there.” A genuine note of concern found its way into Brynjolf’s voice, and he didn’t bother trying to disguise it. He might not know what to think about Arsha and all she had done, but he did know that there was no reason for her to throw her life away.

Arsha shook her head, and Brynjolf could almost picture the sad smile that he knew adorned her face. “Thank you, Brynjolf, but I’m fine. The Key needs to be returned as quickly as possible now that Mercer has been dealt with. It isn’t wise to keep Daedric Princes waiting.” She spoke as if she had some experience with the matter, and Brynjolf made a mental note to ask her about it later if he had the chance.

“Very well,” he said, “Let’s go return the blasted thing and get the Guild back to the way things used to be when our luck was good.” Arsha’s eyes sparkled and she nodded, opening the door to the Sepulchre and stepping inside with Brynjolf right behind her.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N This chapter is really long. I probably should have combined some of it with the chapter before, but I didn't.

Arsha had expected many things when she had entered the Sepulchre, she was dealing with a daedric prince after all, but seeing the ghost of the former Guild Master had not been on that list. At first, Arsha hadn’t been sure who the faintly glowing figure was. Brynjolf, however, had recognized his old mentor immediately. After she had informed Gallus of Mercer’s death and why they were here, she had stepped away to allow the mentor some time with his former student.

Now, she was standing over a pile of bones, reading through a journal that Gallus had mentioned might be helpful to them. It was obvious she and Brynjolf would be facing at least five different ‘tests’. Arsha sighed and pocketed the small journal before turning back to where Brynjolf and Gallus were still talking.

Looking at them, it was easy to see the respect and love that Brynjolf had for his former mentor. From the little Brynjolf had told her about his time as Gallus’s student combined with what she could see in their interactions now, it was obvious to Arsha that their relationship was far closer to that of a father and son than a mentor and his pupil.

Arsha walked over to the pair, bowing slightly to Gallus before turning to Brynjolf. “We should hurry,” she said softly. “If the Skeleton Key isn’t returned soon, Gallus may join the rest of the shades in madness.”

Gallus nodded. “The girl is right, Brynjolf; I can feel my power steadily draining away. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on to this world.”

“Then let’s go return the thing.” Brynjolf sent Gallus a sad smile. “Shadows guide you, Guild Master.”

“And you, Brynjolf.” Gallus’s form shimmered slightly before vanishing. Hopefully, the man would be able to retain his sense of self long enough for them to return the Key.

Arsha turned to Brynjolf, only to find that the man was gazing at her with thoughtful eyes. She thought about asking but decided against it. Instead, she pulled out the journal she had found and handed it to him. “I found this on the body of some bandit who was trying to survive the Pilgrim’s Path,” she explained. “It describes five different tests we’ll have to face.”

Brynjolf read through the journal quickly and handed it back. “It’s a bit cryptic, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. I don’t like the sound of these sentinels, though,” he said. “Do you think those could be the guardians that Gallus told us about, the ones who’ve forgotten who they are?”

Arsha nodded. “Keep your weapons close. If I’ve learned anything, it’s the fact that nothing is ever easy with Daedric Princes.”

Brynjolf grinned slightly at that. It was barely even a shadow of his former grin, the one she had loved so much, but it was better than nothing. “Lead the way,” he said, his amused expression lingering for a few more moments before fading.

Arsha tore her gaze away from his face, berating herself as she did so. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, especially not by him. She would be leaving Skyrim as soon as this was over, and all this would do is make leaving even harder for her. Shaking her head once again, Arsha, strode forward and pushed open the door that would lead them to the Pilgrim’s Path.

They had barely made it through a single hallway when the ghosts attacked them. Arsha was ready for them, however, and felled one with two arrows in the chest. Brynjolf drew his daggers in a swift movement and engaged one of the ghosts, sending it back to the void in a matter of seconds.

They continued to fight their way through the Sepulchre. Arsha had to admit that fighting beside Brynjolf felt good. The man had always been an excellent bladesman, and she admired the way he danced between the shades as they tried and failed to hit him. The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight grin as she spun past a strike that only narrowly missed her. Brynjolf caught her eye from across the room, and once again that shadow of a grin appeared on his face.

The sentinel Arsha was fighting brought his ghostly blade rushing down towards her with deadly force, and her attention was drawn away from Brynjolf and back to her own fight. This sentinel must have been a warrior in his past life, as his attacks were far more precise than most of the other ghosts’ attacks had been. Even in the depths of a madness that had robbed him of all other memories, the man remembered how to fight.

Arsha ended the battle when she stepped inside of one of the ghost’s blows and rammed a dagger into his neck. The sentinel seemed to sigh as he died, his remains turning to nothing more than a shadowy pool of ectoplasm. Arsha’s focus was ripped from the scene, however, when a harsh cry sounded from across the room.

Whipping around, Arsha saw that two of the sentinels had trapped Brynjolf in a corner, and while the thief was weaving and dancing away from the blades to the best of his ability, he was outnumbered and overwhelmed. Without giving herself time to think, Arsha Shouted, “Wuld!”

She rushed over the stone floor at an inhuman speed, coming to a stop just behind the sentinels. The ghosts didn’t even have time to turn around before they both had a dagger buried in the base of their necks. She watched them dissolve with hard eyes before sheathing her daggers and looking over at Brynjolf. The man was looking at her, emotions swirling in his eyes. Instead of the fear she had seen in those beautiful emerald eyes the last time she had Shouted, however, there was something...else.

Brynjolf opened his mouth, and to her surprise, his words were ones of curiosity. “That Shout you used, what was it?”

Arsha was taken aback by the question, and it took her a moment before her voice was able to respond. “Wuld. The word is the first in a Shout called Whirlwind Sprint,” she explained. “I can use it to travel very quickly over short distances. It’s very helpful for reaching ledges and such in caves and dungeons.” Brynjolf didn’t say anything in reply, but Arsha could tell that he was thinking hard about something. She thought about asking, but instead, she pointed to the ugly cut on Brynjolf’s arm where one of the ghosts had managed to hit him.

“I could heal that for you,” she said, uncertainty coloring her voice. Brynjolf hadn’t reacted negatively to her healing last time, but she didn’t want to break whatever fragile truce this was between the two of them.

Thankfully, the man nodded, and Arsha held out her hands, a warm, golden light pulsing in her palms. Her hands hovered over the wound, and she poured her magic into the cut. A few seconds later, the wound had healed completely, leaving no sign that it had ever existed.

Brynjolf looked at his arm, wonder obvious in his expression. Eventually, he looked up at Arsha. “Thank you, lass.” At his words, Arsha felt her heart lurch in her chest. He hadn’t called her that since-since she had told him the truth about who she was. It was nothing more than a slip of his tongue, she knew. That didn’t stop her from loving the sound of his accented voice as it rolled over the word, though.

Shaking her head fiercely, Arsha turned and led the way deeper into the Sepulchre.

Brynjolf followed Arsha, but his mind was elsewhere. She had Shouted, and it hadn’t been one of pain. Logically, Brynjolf knew that there were plenty of peaceful Shouts that the old Greybeards had likely taught her, and yet it had still come as somewhat of a shock to him. A Shout that wasn’t used to inflict pain. A part of him wondered if Arsha had chosen that Shout on purpose, just to show him that she could be the Dragonborn without causing pain.

Eventually, Brynjolf was drawn out of his thoughts when Arsha held up her hand, halting him in his tracks. There was a large door in front of them, likely leading to the next trial they would face. By the Divines, this seemed like a waste of time. If Nocturnal wanted her Key back so badly, why didn’t she just teleport them to the Inner Sanctum?

Arsha broke his train of thought when she said something in the Dragon Language. “Laas Yah Nir.” It was a Shout, obviously, but she had whispered the words instead of the usual yell, and the Shout didn’t seem to have done anything. Before he could ask, however, Arsha spoke, answering his silent question.

“The Shout is called Aura Whisper, it allows me to see the auras of life forms, living and dead, even through walls. There aren’t any in this next room. Whatever is on the other side of this door, it isn’t more sentinels.”

Brynjolf nodded. “What did the book say? Something about ‘Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow’? What does that mean?”

Arsha shrugged ever so slightly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Then she pushed open the door and strode through.

The room they had entered was closer to a cavern in size. It seemed to contain a series of paths, with light illuminating a few of the walkways, and others left in complete darkness. Beside him, Arsha let out a slight ‘ah’ of understanding.

“Stick to the shadows,” she commanded, her voice quiet. “The light will harm us.” Brynjolf didn’t even question the command, instead of falling in behind Arsha as she led the way through the cavernous room. They had just reached the first platform when Arsha stopped abruptly, causing Brynjolf to nearly run into her.

“What is it?” he asked, peering around Arsha’s shoulder into the gloom. It was difficult to make much out in the darkness; he had almost missed a couple of stairs on the way to the platform.

“Tripwires,” was Arsha’s short response. Brynjolf looked at the ground just ahead of them, and sure enough, a taut wire was stretched just in front of another flight of steps. Carefully, the two thieves stepped over the wire and continued on, always staying within the safety of the shadows.

Before too long, Brynjolf and Arsha were standing in front of another door on the other side of the large chamber. Once again, Arsha Shouted three words of power, the ones that allowed her to detect life forms. After a moment of hesitation, she shook her head. “There’s no one on the other side,” she said. Brynjolf nodded and gestured for Arsha to lead the way.

Before long, they found themselves at a dead end in front of a statue of Nocturnal. A dead bandit lay at the base of the statue, surrounded by gemstones and gold. Two torches cast a flickering light over the scene. Brynjolf thought about taking the gemstones, but Arsha was already shaking her head.

“Don’t trust Daedric Princes. Nothing is free,” she warned, before walking around the statue in search of some kind of secret entrance or something that could get them out of this room.

For a few minutes, Brynjolf looked over the room. Something seemed off about the space, but he couldn’t decide what it was. If he were a Daedric Prince of thieves, shadows, and luck, what would he want his shrine to look like? At first, the train of thought got him nowhere, but then his eyes fell on the torches that had been placed on either side of the statue. On instinct, Brynjolf walked over to one, and sure enough, he found a chain next to it. He pulled it, and the light went out. After he did the same to the other torch, a door rumbled open behind the statue.

Arsha stood from where she had been examining the body of the bandit. Her golden eyes glimmered slightly, even in the dark, and Brynjolf could practically hear the slight surprise in her gaze. He chuckled slightly. “All I did was give the goddess what she wanted, darkness.” Arsha shook her head and stepped through the door, but Brynjolf could hear the faint laugh that escaped her. Strangely, the sound made him smile.

They stopped in a room with two different doors. Brynjolf, who had decided by this point that it was best to let Arsha lead the way, watched as Arsha glanced between the two. He had a feeling that if she hadn’t been wearing her mask, he would have been able to see a small frown on her golden lips. After several moments, she strode forward and tried the handle of the door in front of her. It turned, but she didn’t open the door. Then she tried the other door; the handle didn’t budge. Arsha nodded to herself and pulled a few lockpicks and a small knife from one of the many pockets of her armor and began to pick the lock.

Brynjolf walked over to her side and watched her work for a few moments before asking, “Why the locked door? As a thief, I’m all for opening doors that most people prefer stay closed, but isn’t that a little risky in a temple to a Daedric Prince?”

“It could be,” Arsha replied without looking up from the lock. “But I doubt it. The journal mentioned taking an indirect path. I figured a locked door is more indirect than an unlocked one.” As she finished her sentence, the lock in front of her opened with a soft click. She looked up at Brynjolf and then pushed the door open, carefully stepping inside.

Brynjolf followed her but quickly came to a stop as he realized what they were facing. In front of the two Nightingales was what appeared to be a deep well, although there was no water in it. At the bottom, Brynjolf could barely make out what appeared to be skeletal remains and a tattered journal.

“What do we do now, la—”. Before Brynjolf could finish the sentence, Arsha jumped into the well. Leaning over the edge, Brynjolf saw her rising from the crouch she had landed in.

“Jump down,” she called up to him, gesturing for him to join her. “This is the next trial, and I think I know what to do.”

Brynjolf wanted to argue that ‘I think’ wasn’t exactly reassuring, but he couldn’t deny the fact that the woman had been right about the rest of the temple so far. With a heavy sigh, Brynjolf jumped into the well, landing next to Arsha with a hard thud.

“Okay, I’m down here, now what?” he asked. There was no way out that he could see, and judging by the skeleton whose skull he had almost landed on, there wasn’t one. Maybe he should have stayed up there…

Before he could question his decision too much, however, Arsha pulled out the Skeleton Key from her bag. “The Key can open any door, right?” she asked. Brynjolf nodded. “Good.” With that, Arsha knelt down and shoved the key into the stone ground beneath their feet and the floor vanished.

Arsha climbed to her feet, a slight grin on her face. She hadn’t been certain that that would work. They had landed in a dark room, the center of which seemed to pulse slowly with a purple light. The Ebonmere, the portal to Nocturnal’s realm of Oblivion.

Stepping slowly, Arsha walked over to the portal and, after a moment’s hesitation, inserted the Key into the small keyhole in the center. Immediately, the light began to pulse slower and then the shadows of the room seemed to gather, coalescing into a humanoid form. Nocturnal.

Arsha immediately dropped to one knee in a bow. Even when she had been at the height of her power during her reign of terror, she had always known better than to show defiance to the Daedric Princes. They were a temperamental group, and one never knew what it was that could send them over the edge. Next to her, Brynjolf copied her movements.

"My, my. What do we have here?” Nocturnal asked, her voice rich and humming with power. Arsha had to work to keep her gaze on the floor. “It's been a number of years since I've set foot on your world. Or perhaps it's been moments. One tends to lose track.” The goddess trailed off for a few moments, and Arsha felt Brynjolf fidget nervously next to her.

“So... once again the Key has been stolen and a "champion" returns it to the Sepulcher, this time with a helper. Mmm, how interesting.” Nocturnal shifted her gaze from Arsha to Brynjolf.

“Now that Ebonmere has been restored, you stand before me awaiting your accolades; a pat on your head... a kiss on your cheek. What you fail to realize is your actions were expected and represent nothing more than the fulfillment of your agreement. Don't mistake my tone for displeasure, after all, you've obediently performed your duties to the letter.” Brynjolf didn’t reply, but Arsha could tell that the man was relieved. “But we both know this has little to do with honor and oaths and loyalty. It's about the reward; the prize. Fear not. You'll have your trinkets, your desire for power, your hunger for wealth.” Nocturnal’s voice trailed off once again, and she turned her attention back to Arsha.

“You, you are different from most of my champions. Better suited, perhaps,” she mused, and Arsha could feel the Daedric Prince’s eyes examining her soul. “You know what it means to live in a web of mystery and shadow. You have lived in my realm for a long time, Arsha Loreaen.”

Outwardly, Arsha didn't react, but on the inside she was curious. None of the other Daedric Princes had ever called her by her name. Most of them hadn’t even bothered to use her title of Dragonborn. They either didn’t know or didn’t care who she was as long as she did their bidding. Nocturnal, however, was different. Why?

Nocturnal’s voice drew Arsha from her thoughts. “I bid you both rise and drink deeply from the Ebonmere,” the goddess said, gesturing to the swirling pool behind her. “For this is where the Agent of Nocturnal is born. The Oath has been struck, the die has been cast and your fate awaits you in the Evergloam. Farewell, Nightingale. See to it the Key stays this time, won't you?" With those final words, Nocturnal disappeared, fading back into shadow once more.

For a few long moments, Arsha and Brynjolf simply gazed at each other. It was done. The Skeleton Key had been returned and the Guild’s luck would once again be back to the way it used to be. Then, Brynjolf let out a laugh, deep and hearty. The sound yanked at Arsha’s heartstrings, twisting them in a painfully tight knot. She hadn’t heard that sound in what felt like ages.

After almost a solid minute, Brynjolf’s laugh faded into chuckles and he wiped the tears from his eyes. After he had regained enough breath to speak he said, “The Guild will be back on its feet in no time now! After years of watching helplessly as the contracts became fewer and farther between and the vendors packed up their shops for greener pastures, it’s finally over.” Brynjolf locked eyes with Arsha, still smiling widely. “Thank you, lass. Thank you.”

Arsha’s eyes widened and she took a hasty step back, shaking her head. “You don’t have to thank me. You never have to thank me, Brynjolf,” Arsha’s voice lowered to nothing more than a whisper and she looked away. “Not after what I’ve done.”

For a moment, Brynjolf’s grin seemed frozen on his face, and Arsha could tell that for just a few seconds, he had forgotten who she truly was and the things that she had done to him. Then, his face fell, his lips pressed together in a serious line. The triumph that had been palpable in the air around them vanished like morning dew on a hot day, replaced with a thick tension that lay over the room like a fog.

“Karliah said you plan to leave Skyrim,” Brynjolf stated, his voice carefully empty as he folded his arms in front of his chest.

Arsha nodded. “I do,” she confirmed. “I can’t stay here.” She was certain of that now. Being near Brynjolf hurt too much; it was too easy for her to lose herself in his laugh and his voice and his eyes. No, it was far better that she leave.

“Why?”

Arsha frowned. That wasn’t a question she had expected. Wasn’t it obvious? “I hurt you, Brynjolf, more than anyone else ever has. If I stayed, I would only end up hurting you again.”

“Aye, you did. But you’ve had plenty of chances to do that again already. If you wanted to hurt me, you could’ve done it already.”

Divines! Why was he making this harder for her? “I don’t want to hurt you, Brynjolf. I don’t!” Arsha insisted, her feet carrying her a step closer to him as she spoke. “But I that darkness is still inside of me, and I can’t be certain that it won’t bubble to the surface again.”

Brynjolf stepped closer. “But you were good once. It wasn’t an evil woman who saved the world from Alduin or destroyed the Thalmor. It was a woman who cared about Skyrim and her people,” he insisted, his voice low but full of a startling conviction.

Arsha had to break eye contact. She looked away, towards the floor of the Inner Sanctum. “Why are you making this harder for me?” she asked in a whisper. “I wish I could yell at you, scream at you and storm away. It would be so much easier that way. But I can’t. I can’t say that I hate you when I—” she cut off.

“When you what? Lass, look at me,” Brynjolf commanded, his voice no louder than hers had been. Arsha obeyed, looking into his green eyes and finding more emotions swirling in those depths than she could decipher. “You told me you would answer any question I asked honestly.”

A few tears leaked from Arsha’s eyes, and she blinked the rest back, taking a deep breath before saying, “I can’t say that I hate you when I love you so much that it hurts.” The tears were coming to quickly now for her to stop them. “I wish for your sake that I didn’t, but I do. I’m sorry.” She tore her gaze from his, looking down at the floor once again.

For several long moments, Brynjolf said nothing. “Then come back with me. Come back to the Guild.”

At that, Arsha’s head snapped up. “Why? Why would you want me back there? How could I stay when I can see the pain in your eyes when you gaze too long into Vekel’s fire or someone laughs just a little too loudly? How could I stay knowing that my presence would only make it all so much worse?” she asked, her anger making the words come out strong and fierce in the quiet room.

“Aye, you broke me, lass,” Brynjolf admitted, taking another step closer. They were only a few inches apart now. “You broke me, but you also helped to put me back together. Those months you spent with the Guild were some of the best of my life.” He smiled slightly. “I had planned on asking you on a date the day you got back from the East Empire Company. Did you know that? Then Mercer swept you away to Snowveil.”

Brynjolf’s expression clouded. “When he told me that you were dead, it was as if the world had been pulled out from under me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe that you were gone, I didn’t want to believe. Then, you came back, and it was like a missing piece of me was restored. I could smile again, even in the face of Mercer’s betrayal.”

“Why tell me this, Bryn?” Arsha asked. Her voice was hoarse from her tears.

“Because,” he responded, stepping even closer until their noses were almost touching. “Because those memories are more powerful than the ones I have of those six days I spent as your prisoner.” He moved to push down her hood and mask, and Arsha didn’t stop him.

“For the longest time, I pictured the Dragonborn as a monster, unfeeling and inhuman. But then I met you as Arsha, and I got to know you. I learned the way your head tilts to the side and your eyes sparkle when you’re amused. I learned the way you would jump to the aid of any member of the Guild once we became your family. I learned the way you would fight to get us back on our feet. Then, you took off your mask, and the two images I had created crashed together and I didn’t know what to think.”

Brynjolf wiped a few tears from Arsha’s cheeks, his fingers gentle as the glided across her skin. “Now I know what I think.”

“And what is that?” Arsha asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I know that I fell in love with a woman who is beautiful, powerful, and more complex than any bard’s story could ever portray,” Brynjolf replied, a soft smile on his lips. “A woman with a dark past that haunts her, a past that has helped to shape her into a better person. A woman who has worked for years to atone for her sins.”

“And yet, I will never be able to,” Arsha said bitterly. “My sins are too great. They have tainted me beyond any power to cleanse. Please, let me leave before they stain you too.”

Brynjolf looked at her with searching eyes. “Do you really want to leave?”

Arsha hung her head. She should say yes. Brynjolf would let her go if she did, she was certain of it. She would be freeing them both from so much pain and sadness. And yet, her mouth wouldn’t form the word. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

Brynjolf tilted her chin up with his fingers until their eyes met once more. “Then stay. Stay and take up your mantle as Guildmaster. Stay, and we can pick up our broken pieces together. Stay, lass.”

At that final word, Arsha’s remaining threads of resolve snapped. She melted into Brynjolf’s arms, and the man held her tight to his chest as if he was afraid to let her go. “Thank you, Bryn,” she whispered into the thief’s shoulder.

Brynjolf pulled back, looking her in the eyes once again. Instead of replying, however, he kissed her. It was slow and gentle; they both knew how fragile the other was. They were broken, yes, but maybe together, they could become whole.

Eventually, they broke apart, needing air. Brynjolf grinned at Arsha, a proper grin, not the shadows she had seen earlier. “I love you, lass,” he said. In response, Arsha kissed him again, pulling him close to her, craving his warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, there is happiness once more!!!!!


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. Lots of fluffiness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the revised version. If you want to read the most significant changes, I suggest starting at chapter 28 or so.

The sound of laughter met Arsha’s ears as she stepped into the Ragged Flagon, as it often had ever since Mercer’s defeat. It seemed that the Guild had plenty of reason to be merry. The coin was flowing, merchants had set up shop right outside the Flagon, and, according to Delvin, they were getting more contracts than ever before. Even Vex was hard pressed to find something that was going wrong, which was a miracle in its own right.

A smile spread across Arsha’s face as Delvin waved her over to sit next to him. “Guildmaster, it’s good to see you!” the Breton declared a smile on his face.

Arsha sat down and stole a swig from Delvin’s mug. “How many times do I have to tell you, Del? My name is Arsha. ‘Guildmaster’ implies that I have some level of control over this rabble.” Arsha laughed and gestured to where Thrynn and Rune sat at the bar, playing some kind of drinking game. As she spoke, Thrynn leaned back on his stool to empty his mug, only to topple over backward, sending Rune into a fit of laughing.

Delvin chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose that’s true, but that amulet around your neck says otherwise.”

Arsha glanced down at the Amulet of Articulation, her ‘badge of office’ as Brynjolf had put it. Another smile found its way onto her face as she remembered the day she had received it, almost two years ago now.

“Are you ready, lass?” Brynjolf asked, in a low tone so that Delvin, Vex, and Karliah wouldn’t hear.

Arsha looked over the Cistern. All of the Guild members, plus a few other contacts including Maven Blackbriar were there to see her become the new Guildmaster. How in Nirn was she supposed to be ready to lead these people? “No, Bryn, I’m not. How did I let you talk me into this?” she grumbled under her breath. Brynjolf only laughed.

“Sorry, lass. You’re stuck with us now,” he declared before turning to face the Guild. “Now, I’m not one for a lot of pomp and circumstance, so I’ll keep this short. You all know Arsha, some of you even know her by another name,” Arsha took a deep breath and slowly lowered her hood and mask. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her. “All of you have heard the name before. Dragonborn.” The room was still.

In the past several weeks, Arsha had told each Guild member the truth about her identity one by one. Today was simply a formal acknowledgment. For a few, the news meant nothing. They were thieves; they knew plenty about dark pasts. For others, the revelation was a shock. Delvin had actually taken it the worst. Eventually, however, Arsha had been able to explain and the Breton had accepted her. She had a feeling Brynjolf had something to do with that, although the red-haired thief denied any involvement.

“Regardless of what her other titles may be, I believe Arsha is worthy of a new title, Guildmaster, Brynjolf continued, turning to face the other three senior members of the Guild.

Vex was the first to speak. “Sure, why not?” Her voice was indifferent, but Arsha noticed the proud glow in the white-haired woman’s eyes.

Delvin spoke up next, a grin on his face. “Absolutely.”

“There’s is no one better suited,” declared in her soft voice. Brynjolf grinned, and Arsha let out a soft sigh of relief. That had gone better than she had expected it to, in all honesty.

Brynjolf stepped forward and gently clasped the Amulet of Articulation around her neck. “Congratulations, lass,” he whispered to her, a proud smile adorning his face before turning back to the crowd. “Arsha Loreaen, Guildmaster,” he declared in a loud voice, stepping aside and gesturing to Arsha. For a brief moment there was silence, then the entire room burst into applause.

Arsha shook herself from her memories, a smile still playing on her lips. “Sorry, Del, I didn’t catch what you said,” she apologized.

Delvin only shook his head with a laugh; the man was used to her zoning out every now and again. “I said that between you and Bryn this place is running smoother than it ever has before.”

Arsha shook her head. “That is all Brynjolf. He does all the hard work, I just give out orders,” Arsha stated. And that was the truth. She couldn’t have asked for a better second-in-command. Delvin didn’t reply. Instead, he sipped at his mead while raising a disbelieving eyebrow. Arsha rolled her eyes and was about to stand up when she remembered why she had entered the Flagon in the first place.

“Have you seen, Bryn anywhere, Delvin?” she asked the Breton across from her.

Delvin shook his head. “I think he said something about doing a few jobs in town tonight. He’s probably still out there if you want to go look for ‘im,” he stated. Arsha nodded and stood from the table, thanking Delvin before leaving the Flagon.

She stepped out into the crisp air of Skyrim and was about to start looking for Brynjolf when she remembered the amulet tucked in one of the pockets of her armor. She pulled it out and gazed at it, the way she had for the past few weeks ever since she had gotten it. A flood of nervousness ran through her, and she was about to put it back, but her hands unclasped the amulet of Articulation and secured the other amulet instead. She also pushed down her hood and mask, deciding that she could risk it tonight. The likelihood that anyone would recognize her was slim. Then she took a deep breath and set out to find her red-haired nord.

After wandering around for almost an hour, Arsha found Brynjolf sneaking into the Pawned Prawn, no doubt to steal something. She decided to wait outside the door in the shadows for him to come out. When he did a few minutes later, Arsha snuck up behind him before pouncing on him and wrapping him in a hug.

Brynjolf tensed up at her touch for an instant before relaxing again. “Sneaking up on a thief can be a dangerous move, lass,” he whispered lowly, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

Deciding that tonight was as good a time as ever, Arsha replied, “Only if you catch me.” Then she raced off with a laugh. She could almost picture the startled expression Brynjolf no doubt wore. Then, he heard him begin to chase after her.

Arsha led him around the dark streets of Riften until she reached the Temple of Mara. In a few moments, she was on the roof, having followed the same path Brynjolf had taken when he had brought her up here all those years ago, right before she had left for Snowveil Sanctum. Had it really been that long?

A few seconds later, Brynjolf joined her on the roof, grinning, but out of breath. “What was that about, lass?” he questioned.

Arsha didn’t reply. Instead, she stepped toward him and pushed down his hood, gazing into those beautiful green eyes of his. She could see so many emotions there. So much love. There had been a time when she would have thought that that was impossible, now, however, she was lucky enough to have that love in her daily life.

Eventually, Brynjolf broke their gaze, his eyes finding their way down to the amulet hanging from Arsha’s neck, glittering softly in the pale light of the moon. Brynjolf looked at the amulet, then back up at Arsha, then down at the amulet, then back up again. He looked as if he was unable to process what he was seeing. “Is that,” Brynjolf didn’t seem able to get the words out. “Is that an Amulet of Mara, lass?”

Arsha only nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Brynjolf blinked at her for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth without any words coming out. Eventually, he gave up on words entirely and simply kissed her, pouring his emotions into it. Arsha kissed him back just as fiercely, hoping to convey all the words she couldn’t say. All the words in the world couldn’t describe the way she felt, the love she had.

They broke apart, and Arsha smiled at the red-haired thief across from her. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” she said with a laugh, all of her pent-up nerves escaping into the cool night air.

“Aye, lass, that it is,” Brynjolf replied, sealing his words with another kiss.

They stayed like that, wrapped in one another’s embrace, for a long time. Arsha found herself thanking the Divines that Brynjolf had picked her out of the market crowd that day and given her a new life. He had brought her out of the darkness that had consumed her; he had given her light. She had been broken, and now, now she was whole.

“I love you, Brynjolf,” Arsha whispered, knowing that it was true.

“I love you too, lass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over. I feel so...well, I don't really know how I feel. I hope that the last chapter was a good enough ending for you all, even if it was a little bit short.
> 
> I have one final request for each of you, what was your favorite and least favorite part. I truly want to know the answer because your feedback will help me know what to improve for my next story. It can be a scene, a line, a chapter, or a feeling you had.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading, and an extra big thank you to those of you who have commented and satisfied my ever-present hunger for reviews! I can't explain how happy I am that you took the time to read this little story of mine, whether you commented on it or not. Thank you again, and goodbye.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Shadows of my Past Lives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287296) by [ChippyCon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChippyCon/pseuds/ChippyCon)
  * [Run and Hide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110985) by [bkd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bkd/pseuds/bkd)




End file.
